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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826199">And I Will Wend My Way With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor'>mariana_oconnor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clint Barton Bingo 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Although only for a minute before enthusiastic consent is obtained, Before the events of the fic, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, Enemies to Lovers, Hair Braiding, Hand Jobs, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language Barrier, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mentions of Prostitution, Mildly Dubious Consent, No sex takes place until after the slavery issue is resolved, Sign Language, Slave Clint Barton, Slavery, Spy Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tattoos, Unsafe Sex, Wall Sex, a lot of ust, because it is a medieval style world and they do not understand STIs, like literally - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:47:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826199</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana_oconnor/pseuds/mariana_oconnor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After four long years, Bucky's mission is finally complete. All he needs to do is leave the Hydra Empire and make his way back to the Kingdom of Brooklyn with the information he has obtained. He definitely doesn't need the added complication of a slave, especially not one as angry and handsome as Clint Barton.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Clint Barton Bingo 2020 [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Clint Barton Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For more information about the non-con and dub-con tags I've given, please see the notes at the end of the fic. </p><p>This was written to fill 5 squares from the Clint Barton Bingo and 5 from the Bucky Barnes Bingo. It is unrepentantly full of tropes, entirely unbetaed (because deadlines) and almost entirely without redeeming features. It's literally just about the UST. Do not expect the plot to make sense, and do expect a lot of handwaving for plot reasons.</p><p>The squares I've filled with this fic are:<br/>Chapter 1  -  Clint Barton Bingo - C2 Tattoos;   Bucky Barnes Bingo - B2 Bucky/Clint<br/>Chapter 2  -  Clint Barton Bingo - B1 Sign Language;   Bucky Barnes Bingo - U5 Jealousy<br/>Chapter 3  -  Clint Barton Bingo - B2 Prison;   Bucky Barnes Bingo - Y5 Hair Braiding<br/>Chapter 4  -  Clint Barton Bingo - E2 Dancing;   Bucky Barnes Bingo - K4 Sharing Clothes<br/>Chapter 5  -  Clint Barton Bingo - Cuddling;   Bucky Barnes Bingo - K2 Kink: Wall Pinning</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a busy market day in the dusty streets of the Hydra Capital and the voices around Bucky are shouting out in the clipped tones of the local language. His cloak is heavy on his back, concealing his daggers within easy reach, but Bucky is not looking for trouble. If things go according to plan, his troubles are finally coming to an end. His mission is complete except for the part where he makes a clean break for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t intending to stop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still finds it jarring, sometimes, walking through the grey stone of the capital surrounded by people with such hard expressions on their faces. It’s as much in the way they hold themselves as in the differences in clothing and hair styles between here and the more colourful streets of Brooklyn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels it more strongly today, when home is so close he can almost taste it. He’ll walk down streets filled with happier people, their hair braided in the Brooklyn style, their clothes a riot of colour. He will walk those streets again, he tells himself. He just has to hold out a little longer. It’s been four years. Another few days will be nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The crowd is gathered in a thick clump on one side of the square he steps into. They splay out from a small platform in curves like rose petals, except it’s nothing so beautiful. A slave market, that’s what it is, Bucky realises as he sees a woman in manacles shuffled off the stage by a burly woman in leathers with her sword prominent on her back. He falters; he hadn’t realised that was today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky tries to avoid this square on market days. Part of being a spy is knowing to leave the symptoms alone in order to get the cause. Four years is a long time to live in a city like this, and he hates himself for avoiding it, but taking out one slave market would only land him in a Hydra prison camp. Taking out the empire itself, that’s what he’s here for, and he can’t afford to be distracted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he is distracted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He winces as a young man is dragged up, stripped to the waist and forced to his knees. His blonde hair is cut short, like they wear it in the western isles, and he’s saying something to the auctioneer that gets him backhanded, making him sprawl face first onto the wooden platform.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the tattoos that catch Bucky’s eye. He has the usual slave tattoos around his wrists: thick, ugly marks with no artistry to them, but that’s not all. On his back, there is the most elaborate tattoo Bucky has ever seen, a great spreading pair of wings, stylised and picked out in undulating entwining lines, like thorn-covered vines, with concentric circles full of repeating patterns nestled between his shoulder blades. The black lines, dark against his skin, highlight the muscles of his back as they shift under skin that glistens with sweat. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should not be diverted by a handsome face and a well-muscled back, but there’s something that seizes his eye and won’t let him look away. The man’s head is raised, defiantly, though there’s blood dripping down from his mouth, and he looks nothing like a slave. He will not bend, Bucky thinks, and his heart skips a beat as he thinks about what is awaiting that young man, with his stubborn spirit and beautiful tattoos.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows that in the western isles such marks have meanings. Sometimes it is the number a person has killed, at other times they are a status symbol. He wonders what story those black lines would tell to someone who had the knowledge to read them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The auctioneer kicks the man down and makes some comment about the man being good for hard labour, but Bucky’s not listening. He’s too busy watching the blond man push himself back onto his knees, glaring out at the baying crowd with blue eyes almost feral with anger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t know why it is these eyes that move him. He has seen more slaves since he came to the Hydra Capital than he had thought were possible. He has seen slaves in a worse state than this one, he has seen prettier slaves and younger slaves. Why this one catches his attention and stops him in his tracks, he does not know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve claims that destiny moves them where they are needed, and perhaps it is the hand of destiny at work right now, when he looks into the slave’s feral eyes and feels compassion. Perhaps it was destiny that drew him to this street at this time, rather than taking the more straightforward route to his lodgings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is certainly not his better judgement that raises his hand to bid on the man, a price far below what a slave of this age and strength should be worth. He is strong and good looking, the tattoos give what he supposes he auctioneer would call an ‘exotic’ air to the man, Bucky would have thought he’d fetch a good price, but no one seems to want him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And just like that Bucky becomes a slave owner, and his stomach churns in sickness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hands over the money and the woman with the slicked back hair unrolls a scroll, slapping it down in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sign here,” she tells him, pointing to a space at the bottom. Bucky does so and as he writes the letters glow with a sickly green glow as they dry onto the page. It’s not hard to recognise magic when he sees it and he looks at the woman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Standard magical contract,” she says. “He is bound to you until he dies… or you die… or you sign him over to someone else.” She hands him the scroll, which Bucky takes reluctantly. This just got a lot more complicated. Not that he signed with his own name, but magic is always a little fuzzy on the specifics. Will the magic see that as a loophole, or does it still work merely because it is a name he has used. People change their names all the time, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have time to consider the effects this might have before the woman is handing over the man’s leash as well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” she says in the abrupt tones of the Hydra tongue. “You’re going to need it.” Her smile is filled with metal teeth and Bucky doesn’t bother to return it, just nods. There is a role he needs to play right now, and he is too close to being free again to risk breaking it. He jerks on the leash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come along,” he says to the slave, who is glaring at him furiously. He pulls again, forcing him to take a step. “You’d better keep up, we have a lot of travelling to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He half drags the man from the market, keeping one eye on him and the other on the lookout for guards or ambushes of any kind. He thinks he made it out of Schmidt’s fortress clean, but there’s always a possibility. He won’t be safe until he’s back in the Brooklyn palace, and even then there are still fingers that could reach him - if they wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he’s going to get himself - and this man he just dragged into his mess - out of here alive, he’s going to have to be flawless in the part he plays. It’s not just his life on the line anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky shoots a look at the slave, who is still glaring at him, his lips bloody from where the auctioneer had hit him. He looks like he wants to rip Bucky’s throat out. That’s alright, that’s good. The willingness to fight is good. Of course, it would be more useful if the fighting were directed at the actual bad guys. Bucky sighs under his breath. Natasha is going to laugh at him. She’ll say he has a soft heart again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some Hydra guards walk past in their red and black uniforms and he yanks on the leash again. There’s resistance at the other end, the slave is standing taller now, if he straightened completely he’d probably be a good bit taller than Bucky himself and he’s strong with it. Bucky has the sudden idea that he might have bitten off more than he can chew with this one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushes the guy in front of him, taking care to do it with more drama than savagery and notes that the slave has clearly been working on picking the manacles. Bucky winces. Of course, the man is smart as well as built like a farm labourer. He leans forwards to pull the scrap of metal he’s been using from the man’s hands, reaching to grab him by his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man goes still, clearly waiting for some punishment, but Bucky leans in as close as he can, lowering his voice enough that he hopes it won’t be heard by anyone nearby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you out of them myself once we’re clear of the city,” he mutters. “I’m trying to help you. Play along and maybe we’ll both get out of here alive and free.” Then he shoves the man’s head forwards, making him stumble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes turn to him, full of confusion and Bucky can only hope the man knows enough to understand that his chances of escape outside of the city are far higher than within. With the slave bands on his wrists, there isn’t a person in the city who wouldn’t immediately peg him as a runaway. They both need to get out of Hydra, they should at least be able to become allies, no matter how uneasy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky has rooms over a small bakery, and some days during his four years here, it has been the scent of fresh bread alone that has kept him sane. It reminds him of Brooklyn and home, sneaking into the palace kitchens to snag a loaf with Steve at his side. It reminds him that there are better things beyond Hydra’s high walls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushes the slave into the room and shuts the door behind him, locking it quickly, then goes to shut the window, checking every hiding place in the room, just in case someone has made it here before him,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabs one of his shirts and tosses it over to the man, who looks at it like he’s never seen one before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Put it on,” Bucky says. “You can hardly travel as you are.” He doesn’t think about what that would look like, the man astride a horse in just his leather breeches. The man looks at him again, then down at the shirt, then holds up his bound hands, saying something a little too loudly in a language that Bucky doesn’t understand, but which comes across as sarcastic clearly enough. Bucky winces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” he says, pulling the key from his pocket. “I guess most slaves aren’t locked up, but we have to keep up the pretence until we’re well clear of here.” The man makes another comment in that strange language and Bucky sighs. “Do you even understand me?” he asks. He gets a sardonic look that could either be ‘of course I understand you’ or ‘why are you still jabbering at me in that nonsense tongue?’ Bucky sighs. “Do you have a name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man says something, waving towards the side of his head vaguely. His words are still just a bit louder than Bucky would like and he winces, hoping that no one who can understand the language the man is speaking is on the other side of the door. Bucky unlocks the manacles and backs away, aware of the edge in the man’s eyes, like a cornered animal. There’s a sense of humour to his voice, but Bucky’s seen that sharpness in a person’s eyes before, he knows better than to turn his back on him. He’ll have to keep him tied until they can actually have a conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, this is perfect,” he says to the man, or more to himself, he supposes. He shouldn’t have stopped. He knew he shouldn’t have stopped even as he did it. He’s been here for years, but it took him until now to grow a conscience. If that is even what this is. There were other slaves for sale today, but he didn’t even look at them, too busy being mesmerised by the shifting patterns of black ink painted across the man’s flesh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When we get to Brooklyn, I’ll have to find a translator,” he says. “You’ll be free then. I swear you’ll be free as soon as I can make it happen.” He sits down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh and drops his head into his hands. He had to go and make everything more complicated, didn’t he. He’d prepared to get one person - himself - out of the capital. He hadn’t planned for two. Natasha was expecting only him at the halfway house. Dragging a slave along - one clearly marked as such and </span>
  <em>
    <span>magically bound to him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make matters worse - let alone a slave who doesn’t understand a word he says, is going to get them both killed. He’d let himself become distracted by… his eyes drift over to the man’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, he tries not to think of it, tries not to stare at the lines of muscles in the man’s stomach as they flex when he slowly pulls the shirt on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky reminds himself that it’s a good thing he’s covered up as he needs as few distractions as possible now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man catches him looking, stretches a little, like a cat, a smirk across his face, and Bucky glares at him before picking up the manacles again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says, looking right into those blade-edged eyes, which glared right back at him, full of betrayal. “This is the only way we both get out of this alive,” he says. “And I can’t have you fucking up what I’m doing here.” The man says something, the words bitter as his grin, and Bucky tries to look apologetic, but his face isn’t used to the expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He saddles two horses, answering the looks he gets for allowing a slave to ride with comments about not letting the idiot hold him back in his most imperious tone, and that seems to sort that out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is surprised to see that his new travelling companion sits in the saddle like he was born to it, his body sinking and rising with the horse’s steps in a natural rhythm, the muscles in his thighs guiding the beast between the crowds and towards the gates. Bucky does not imagine those thighs riding anything else. The man has been a slave, he has had no choices of his own, and above all that, for all he knows Bucky is just another owner, determined to use him and throw him away. The thoughts that flicker through Bucky’s mind are unthinkable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky bites at his lip as he wonders whether that was the only reason he stepped in to save the man, just because his libido wouldn’t let a man who looked like that die. Or maybe because he wanted to be his saviour. His pathetic little attempt to earn the man’s admiration and gratitude, his good act tarnished by his intentions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He drags his eyes away from the fluid way the blonde rides a horse to look into the crowds for possible enemies. He can feel the prickle on the back of his neck which reminds him they are not free yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Getting out of the city is surprisingly easy, his new travelling companion is keeping a wary eye on him, but seems to have decided to trust Bucky for now. The gate guard all but snatches Bucky’s papers from his hand and looks him up and down with a dismissive eye. As always, Bucky’s hand is never far from his daggers. All it would take is one guard to see his papers are counterfeit and he’d be fighting his way out. He could do it. From here he can see seven guards, at varying distances from him, and he has already mapped out over a dozen ways the combat could go. They are complacent and far from the best trained combatants, he could take them all out easily enough, but they would not be the last, far from it. He would rather not make the journey back to Brooklyn with pursuers in tow. With Hydra’s men pursuing him, he might not make it back to Brooklyn at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the forged papers pass the guard’s cursory inspection, which makes them worth the exorbitant price he paid for them, and he and his slave are waved through the gate. He offers the guard a coin in thanks and it vanishes quickly up a sleeve with a sly grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And they are out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky hadn’t been aware of how oppressive the thick crowds of people in the streets of the capital had felt, or how Hydra’s thick walls surrounding the city had seemed more strangling than protective. Beyond the gate, where the horizon is stretched out, he feels like he can breathe again. His travelling companion - his slave… the man he </span>
  <em>
    <span>bought</span>
  </em>
  <span> - seems just as relieved by the sudden expanse of world beyond them, the road rolling out and into the distance. Bucky shoots him a look and sees the man has closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath of air.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are still too close to the city for conversation, though. Other travellers mill around, guards pass up and down the line of people waiting to enter the capital and there are always people watching from atop the walls. It would be a cruel twist of fate to get this far and then be shot in the back by an archer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs to take his information back to Brooklyn before it is too late, and preferably without dying. Of course, his not-so-accidental slave acquisition has made circumstances a little more volatile. He casts a look over to where the man rides next to him. He doesn't look like a slave. He looks like a scout, his eyes searching out into the distance, looking for something, though Bucky couldn’t say what. Hydra soldiers, perhaps, escape is more likely, Bucky would guess. It's what he would be looking for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they are far enough from people, Bucky risks another attempt at communication. He slows his horse down and watches the other horse slow as well, the man on it looking at him with guarded eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He needs a name for this person he has selfishly saved. He can't keep thinking of him as some generic person, he has an identity. Slavery may have smothered it, but the least Bucky can do is let him reclaim that. At least until they reach Natasha tomorrow and maybe she'll know what language he's speaking. If she doesn't, they're going to have to get creative.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky catches the man's eye and gestures to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bucky," he says. Then he points at the other man, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated question. The man looks at him like he's crazy. Bucky tries again. "I'm Bucky. What's your name?" It feels good to use his own name again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man shrugs and waves a hand as if to say it doesn't matter. Bucky pulls his horse to a stop and the other guy looks at him, startled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You've got a name. I'm not just going to give you another one." He says, and repeats the gestures again, his voice more emphatic. The man's eyes linger on Bucky's lips as he speaks and Bucky can't stop himself from licking them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaves his hand pointing towards the other man's chest and silence falls between them. The only noise is the tweeting of the birds in the trees nearby. After a second the man raises his hand to his chest and speaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Clint," he says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky grins, even though Clint's still looking at him like Bucky's going to kill him any second. But he has a name. Bucky nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nice to meet you, Clint."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are not followed, as far as Bucky can tell. He can only hope that’s because no one has yet worked out what he has taken, but he fears it might be because they are already ahead of him. The information he carries could prevent this war from even starting, but only if he makes it through. His attention is split, though. If he had thought covering Clint up would make him less distracting, he had been very wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they stop to make camp for the night - as out of the way and concealed as Bucky can make them, Clint starts to awkwardly make a fire, although as good as he may be at riding, fire-building is not his forte. The wood he gathers is too green, the pile is built up wrong and Bucky knows it would take forever to light with no kindling, so Bucky pushes him out of the way and rebuilds it himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s expression of apology seems a little overdone, though, and Bucky eyes him carefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they settle down, Bucky sits on a fallen tree nearby and Clint begins to prepare some food. Bucky tries to stop him, but Clint proves to be stubborn and it’s not like Bucky has any way to convey the rather complicated idea that he’s uncomfortable with Clint serving him, when he can’t even convey the idea that as far as he’s concerned, Clint’s a free man already.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint is… not good at cooking. It’s burnt on one side and raw on the other, so Bucky burns it all over then eats it with as little chewing as possible, hoping he cooked it enough not to end up puking his guts out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Clint tries to kneel at his feet rather than sitting beside him on the large log he had found, Bucky insists, as clearly as he can, that Clint sit next to him. Clint seems suspicious, but takes him up on the offer, chewing over his own food carefully, not seeming to care how burnt it is. Bucky thinks that sometimes he can feel Clint looking at him, but whenever he turns to check, Clint is staring into the flickering light of the fire, the golden glow of it outlining his profile like he’s some old forest god. Bucky swallows and shakes his head at thinking such nonsense before turning back to the fire himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is awkward silence. They cannot communicate, and Bucky doesn’t know what to do with a person you literally just bought. But it seems Clint does not have such problems, and he begins to speak in his own language, his words with a curious lilt to them. Bucky wishes he knew what Clint was saying, but he might as well wish all the stars to fall from the heavens and dance for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has no bedroll for Clint, having only planned for himself, but he finds enough blankets to make a passably soft place for him to sleep, aware of Clint watching him in confusion the whole time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still ties him up, though. Until they can talk, Clint is a threat and Bucky can’t risk that. Not yet. Not when he’s so close.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight,” Bucky says. Clint says something in response, with a smile that lights up his face, although the light of the fire makes it look more savage than welcoming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is the change in the air that wakes Bucky. He has been in the heart of enemy territory for so long that he does not remember what it is to sleep deeply or without being on guard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air changes around him and he is awake, though he does not open his eyes. Something is wrong. The certainty of that thought leaves no grogginess in its wake, and he is as alert as he ever is. The air feels still and heavy and filled with tension.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps his muscles relaxed, forces himself to move only with that soft lassitude that sleep enables, and turns slightly, letting a sigh of breath escape his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something is moving slowly towards him. There is not much sound to it, but enough that he can hear it coming, and he is aware of a presence there, creeping closer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dagger is in his belt; his dagger is always in his belt. He won’t remove it until he is home again. So he shifts again, as though sleep guides his movements, to put his hand closer to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can hear breathing, gentle and controlled. A bandit, perhaps, creeping in to murder them in their sleep and take what worldly goods they have. The bandit has picked the wrong camp to attack, though. It will be a bad night for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Human, though, not animal, he is almost certain now. Animals move differently, more smoothly, designed specifically to stalk like this through the night. This moves like a human.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where there is one bandit, there are usually more, and he strains his hearing to its limits to try to make out other movement in the undergrowth, but there is none. He does not know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. There are only two reasons a person would hunt travellers alone in the woods like this. The first is if they are a fool, the second is if they are more deadly than anything else out here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The presence comes closer, and Bucky wills it closer still. They are still out of his reach, and a trap sprung too early will only catch the one who sets it. He has to wait. He does not dare open his eyes, the reflection of the moonlight would give him away in a heartbeat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time moves slowly as the person advances on him, and it’s then that he realises he cannot hear Clint’s breathing. He almost gives himself away with the realisation. If he brought Clint out here only for him to die in his sleep it will be another bloody mess to add to his list of them. He sends prayers to gods he does not believe in that that will not be the case, that Clint merely took advantage of his sleep to run off, and he is not lying on the other side of the fire ash, his throat cut, blood staining the leaves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An owl hoots, the breeze ruffles the tree branches, and his prey moves closer. If they have killed Clint, he will not give them mercy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He silently begs them to come closer, and they oblige, step by careful step, until finally</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky erupts into movement, springing on them, his dagger in hand, but it’s pushed aside as the intruder slips under his arm. They tangle in arms and knives and legs, rolling on the floor, broken twigs and stones bruising their backs. Whoever they are, they are good, twisting and biting and avoiding Bucky’s blade in ways he would not have thought possible, their body shifting and turning in ways that defy what he knows of human flexibility.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slices into their arm and they gasp, and he takes advantage of their shock to knock them to the ground, his legs astride them, his arm pressing against their throat as he raises his dagger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moonlight shines down onto Clint’s face, casting it in shades of grey, his pale hair almost glowing with it. His mouth is curled in a snarl, his eyes filled with anger and Bucky reassesses pretty much everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Clint takes advantage of his shock and turns the tables.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has a knife, one of Bucky’s boot knives. He must have taken it when he knelt by Bucky’s feet before, though Bucky hadn’t noticed a thing. It’s now pressed against Bucky’s throat, as sharp as it always is - Bucky takes good care of his knives - and Clint is staring down at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky cannot blame him for this, even as the knife presses in a little, making Bucky tilt his head back into the softened earth beneath it, holding Clint’s gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha is going to laugh and laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hydra scum,” Clint says, clear and precise, in the same language Bucky has been speaking to him all this time. He’s going to slit Bucky’s throat, and Bucky won’t be able to move quick enough to stop him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this chapter there are some dub-con elements, please see end of work for more information.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The metal at his throat is cold, but Clint’s body pressing on top of him is hot, and Bucky is a little grateful for that. He does not want to die cold. Clint’s eyes are sharp and display more intelligence than they had before, and Bucky almost laughs at the thought he’d lasted four years in the centre of Hydra and never been caught, but he’d been played worse in a day by a slave he’d bought on a whim of altruism.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, laughing would press his throat closer to the blade, so he restrains himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint’s body is lithe and strong, the muscles in his arms are outlined in the moonlight and he can see the tendons standing taut as well. It is probably wrong to react to a moment like this with attraction, but there is no denying that Clint makes quite the picture, poised over him. Bucky squashes the thought again as unworthy of them both.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not Hydra,” he says as clearly as you can say anything with a knife at your throat. Clint blinks and leans in closer. There are freckles on his nose, just a few small dots, but this close up Bucky can see them. He can feel the breath from Clint’s mouth as well, whispering over his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Liar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not lying,” Bucky says, cataloguing how he could break Clint’s grasp. It would be difficult, and there is a chance he wouldn’t manage it before the man sliced into his jugular, but it’s possible. His dagger is still in his hand, but Clint’s other hand is pinning that arm down into the ground on top of a rigid tree root, bending his elbow at an uncomfortable angle to prevent him from getting leverage. It’s that arm, as well, the one that only looks and feels real if you don’t know what to look for, and it’s not as manoeuvrable as his other, flesh and blood arm is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint stares into his eyes and Bucky looks back, trying to make his gaze as steady as honest as possible, although honesty has not been his friend for years. For a second it seems like he might relax, but then the resolve returns to his gaze and the knife presses closer to Bucky’s neck once more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You die, I’m free,” Clint says and Bucky frowns before he remembers the contract. The magic binds Clint to him until one of their deaths or he passes the contract on. But they never said what would happen to Clint in those circumstances. He has a feeling things are not as simple as Clint might think.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe you get a new owner…. Or maybe you die too…” Clint’s eyes watch his lips, and his brow crinkles in confusion, like he doesn’t understand again, which makes no sense, because they’re past that deception now. “I’d prefer to have a mage check that contract before we do anything hasty,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is a crack of a twig snapping to his right and Bucky twists his head as best he can without cutting his own throat. In the dark forest there is a glint of something metal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we can talk about this after we deal with the bandits,” he says, but Clint’s looking at him in confusion again. “Bandits,” he repeats twitching his eyes to the right, but Clint doesn't look away from him, clearly suspecting a trick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When you’re listening for it, the sound of a crossbow being wound and loaded is very distinctive, and there can only be one thing they’re aiming at, with Bucky’s body pressed into the dirt and covered by Clint, so he takes a desperate chance that he can move faster than Clint, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>twists</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their bodies roll over and Bucky feels the bolt tear across the skin of his back, leaving a trail of burning pain as he rolls to his feet. He can also feel a twinge of pain from his throat, where Clint hadn’t quite been fast enough, but he’d still drawn blood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint looks around, knife in hand, and flips onto his own feet in a surge of movement</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bandits,” Bucky says, holding a hand out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So you told the truth this time,” Clint says with a shrug, looking at the five men coming towards them. “Even an idiot guesses right sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The bandits outnumber them, but they have none of Bucky’s training - or Clint’s come to that. They are clearly used to fighting, but against weaker, unarmed opponents, using surprise and sheer numbers to overwhelm them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint fights like he’s made of springs, avoiding sword thrusts and crossbows by bouncing from hands to feet and back again, rolling past a bandit to stab them from the other side. His style is more performance than attack, but it’s strangely effective, even if he is wasting energy on all those manoeuvres. Bucky, on the other hand, conserves his movement, every thrust and feint tightly controlled to draw his opponent out until they are off balance and he can land the killing blow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sees the bandit aiming the next crossbow bolt and yanks Clint out of the way, earning a kick to the side from his own opponent. Clint stares at him, blue eyes wide and shocked for a second.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stick to your own side, dickhead,” he says, before spinning off again, a whirl of limbs and sharp blades. Bucky punches the guy who just kicked him and looks over to see the crossbow man reloading, so he throws his dagger into his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long, only a few minutes, before they are surrounded by bodies and Bucky is assessing his injuries. The slice across his back, the bruise to his side and a few other lucky hits got past, but he’s okay to move, and they don’t want to be here when the local wildlife comes looking for the bodies. He gives Clint a quick look up and down, noting a bruise over his cheek, a bloody nose, and a significant limp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t look like they’re getting a full night’s sleep, then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky squints up at the sky, trying to work out what time it is from where the stars are, though it’s not a skill he’s ever been too good at. They might have slept a few hours before Clint made his assassination attempt. Natasha’s place is still a good few hours away, but as long as Clint isn’t hiding a worse injury from him, they should make it there in one piece, probably around dawn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That is, if Clint hasn’t decided to kill him again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You saved my life,” Clint says. Bucky rolls his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” he says, patting down the nearest bandit and finding some money to repay their troubles. Clint taps him on the shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why did you save me?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because that’s what I’ve been trying to do,” Bucky says. “No one deserves to be a slave. You’ll be free as soon as we get to Brooklyn and I can get a mage to look over that contract, I swear to you.” Clint’s staring at his mouth, eyes squinting hard, like he’s trying to follow but can’t. “Quit pretending you can’t understand me, we both know you can.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This isn’t working, fuck,” Clint says, pushing a hand through his hair. His voice is still off a little, maybe it’s just talking in a language that isn’t his native tongue, but he’s too loud and some of the sounds are more indistinct. “It’s too dark. I can’t see properly.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Bucky asks, but Clint just shakes his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, thanks for saving my life. I mean, I don’t like you, because you’re a dick who thinks you own me, and I guess you were just trying to protect your investment or something, but thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not…” Bucky says. “Look, I’ve got a friend who lives nearby, sort of. We can get to her and maybe she can translate, because it’s clear you’re not getting what I’m saying at all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint says something in his own tongue again, which sounds exasperated, but when he sees Bucky saddling the horses again, he comes over to help, still eyeing Bucky suspiciously, but at least he’s not actively trying to kill him at the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Riding through the woods in the dark is no fun. Clint still has Bucky’s knife, he can see it tucked into his belt. Bucky hasn’t commented, at least partially because he doesn’t know if Clint would understand him if he did, and partially because he thinks they might actually be better prepared if Clint has a weapon. He’s not letting his guard down, though. The man is clearly well trained and Bucky would be a fool to let him out of his sight after he’d tried to kill him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They emerge from the woods and find the road easily enough, which leads them to Natasha’s place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s half inn, half brothel, and secretly a spy post, though the Hydra officers who stop for a little entertainment have no suspicion of that. Clint seems to understand instinctively what to do though, and drops back to a pace behind Bucky as they enter, eyes on the ground.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman at the bar recognises him, but doesn’t make a fuss, as none of Natasha’s people ever would. Most of them have reason to hate the Hydra Empire beyond even Bucky’s own, and they have smuggled more people out than Bucky could count.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They are led to an upstairs room with a wink and a rustle of skirts and Bucky allows himself to smirk playfully at the woman who takes them, playing up the role of wealthy traveller looking for some fun. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The room has the basics, a bed, a washbasin and a cloth on a small dresser, a mirror on the wall, and one chair set up in the corner. The furniture is mismatched and it’s all seen better days, as have the moth eaten curtains. As soon as they’re inside, Bucky pulls off his coat, jerkin and shirt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you’re looking for pleasure, I’m not getting involved,” Clint says, his hand on the knife at his belt, and Bucky shakes his head, going over to where the tarnished mirror hangs on the wall. He stares at himself for a second. He looks like he belongs in Hydra, his facial expression dark and bleak. Even his hair. He raises on hand to it and runs his fingers over it, remembering how Becca had used to do his braids, complaining that her hands were too small to keep hold of all the strands. He shakes his head, standing a little straighter, then turns to crane his neck to look at the slice across his back from the crossbow bolt. It’s still bleeding a little, from where riding and walking have kept it open, but most of the blood has dried to a brown crust. He winces as he rolls his shoulders and it stings again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh…” Clint says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky wipes it off with a cloth, then pulls his shirt back on and sits down on the chair in the corner of the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha arrives just a few minutes later, making a show of coming through the door and walking over to swing herself into his lap, her eyes dart to Clint in question as one hand comes up to Bucky’s hair. Out of the corner of his own eye, he sees Clint looking uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you had a slave,” she says with a laugh. “Is he going to be joining us?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Natasha,” Bucky says. “He’s not a slave… well, he won’t be as soon as I work out how to free him. I’m getting him out, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She eyes him sharply, then turns to Clint.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?” she asks, and Clint frowns at her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sometimes he understands, sometimes he doesn’t,” Bucky says. “There’s a bit of a language barrier there. He tried to kill me last night, to free himself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well that wouldn’t work,” she says. “If the slave kills his master, he kills himself. That’s the standard, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought that might be it,” Bucky agrees. “But I can’t seem to explain to him that I want to free him… thought maybe you might have a better chance. I think he’s from the Western Isles.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha swings herself off his lap, her skirts swinging as she walks towards Clint. She says some words, then switches languages and tries again, then again. After her fourth try, Clint says something in return, but still uncertainly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky turns round to watch. Clint’s eyes keep darting to him again and again, but come back to Natasha, focusing on her intently as she speaks. Then, after a few more halting sentences of conversation, Natasha raises her hands and begins to move them in firm, sharp shapes, quickly working her fingers together in gestures Bucky doesn’t recognise.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re deaf,” Natasha says and Bucky blinks, looking at Clint again. Clint gives him a defiant glare and nods, before gesturing back at Natasha.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He says he thought you knew,” she interprets. “The auctioneer was angry because he wouldn’t get as much money for a slave who couldn’t hear instruction.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Bucky says. “That explains why he was so cheap. Tell him that I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am,” Natasha says, her hands moving quickly again, with a grace and ease that Bucky can’t help but be impressed by. Clint responds, clearly in disbelief, and Natasha signs again, more emphatically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky stands up and walks over to them, his hands spread.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m from Brooklyn,” he says, watching as Natasha translates his words into sign. “We don’t believe in slavery there, it’s outlawed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why buy me?” he asks. “People who don’t want slaves, don’t buy slaves.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So I could free you,” Bucky tells him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t free any of the others,” Clint reminds him and Bucky winces.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I can’t save everyone, I could save you,” he says. It’s the only answer he has to words that have been biting at him ever since he gave in to the impulse in the slave market. Steve would have done better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why me?” Clint asks, and Bucky doesn’t have a good answer for that. He just shrugs. All his answers are selfish and cruel, and he doesn’t want Clint to know that at least some of his thoughts about Bucky have been true. Clint doesn’t seem impressed by the lack of answer, so Bucky goes with the least incriminating response he can.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were talking back,” he says. “You were on your knees in front of that man and he was about to sell you, and you talked back. I didn’t want them to break you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha gives him another shrewd look as she interprets his words and Clint looks utterly confounded by them, like he can’t imagine why anyone would care about him like that. Bucky has a sudden urge to show him that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>matters</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I swear I will see you free, as soon as we are returned to Brooklyn,” he says. “I’ll make a blood oath if you wish.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint watches Natasha translate his words and raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because no one ever breaks a blood oath,” he says, with the voice of someone who has been betrayed before, many times over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s on your side,” Natasha says, signing simultaneously. “He’s helped a lot of people escape from Hydra, and he will help more.” It’s dangerously close to revealing their work, but Bucky trusts Natasha’s judgement of people better than his own. He saw the venom in Clint’s eyes as he knelt over him, knife at Bucky’s throat, so he’s pretty sure Clint’s not a fan of the empire, but he doesn’t know where his allegiances really lie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna have to teach me that,” he says, pointing to Natasha’s hands. “It’ll make things a hell of a lot easier if we can actually talk to each other.” Natasha translates again and Clint raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “What, no one ever wanted you to understand them before?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mostly they just shouted louder,” Clint replies. “You really want to learn?” His expression reminds Bucky of the stray cat he found once, how it would look at him as he left the bowl of meat chunks out for it before slowly stalking towards it. There’s a hint of hope in his expression, under the decades of distrust and Bucky tries to offer him a friendly smile. Clint looks away immediately. Too far, too fast. Bucky’s going to have to take this slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky says. “We’re stuck together until I can get someone to figure out how to break the contract, and the journey back to Brooklyn ain’t easy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Especially not with the bulletin that went round last night,” Natasha says. “Apparently someone broke into the palace and stole some rather incriminating documents.” She looks at Bucky, who is the soul of innocence. “They’re sending out patrols.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good for them,” Bucky says. “I’m sure they’ll have fun with that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint is looking between the two of them, his eyes too sharp for Bucky’s comfort. He refers to Hydra as scum, but reporting a plot like this could very well land him his freedom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re… spies,” Clint says slowly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Natasha says easily. “We are law abiding citizens of the Hydra empire.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right…” Clint says. “But you’re spies, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No clue how you got that idea,” Bucky tells him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I got bought by a fucking spy,” Clint says, there’s a hint of a laugh in his voice. “You’re serious… about freeing me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There is no slavery allowed in Brooklyn,” Bucky says. “As soon as we cross the border, you’re legally free.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re serious,” Clint repeats. He sits down on the bed, his hands clutching at the muscles of his thighs in a way that makes his forearms bulge. Bucky doesn’t let the movement hold his gaze, but he knows that Natasha notes the way he looks at it, she notes everything. It’s why she’s been out here in this halfway house for so long, gathering information, noticing things. He prefers her skills when they’re not directed at him, though.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can leave tonight,” Natasha says. “You know where the back exit is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do,” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can get Clint another room, if you’d like, and send one of my girls - or boys - to entertain you.” her smile is knowing, as is the arch of her eyebrow and Bucky gives her a hard glance, not that it has any effect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not tonight, thanks,” he says, although he turns to Clint. “You can get your own room though… and company if you want it.” Natasha translates for them and Clint looks at him with wide eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna trust me with that? I tried to kill you earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I once stabbed Natasha in the stomach,” Bucky says with a shrug. “She forgave me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” Natasha tells him, drawing in a deep breath as she raises her chin. “I’m simply waiting for the best moment for revenge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You stabbed her?” Clint asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was necessary,” they both say as one, and he looks between them like they’re crazy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll have food sent up,” Natasha says. “You two should probably spend some time getting to know each other. Brooklyn’s a fair distance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t rise to her bait, but he sees the flush over Clint’s cheeks and wonders if she signed the same thing she said, or if she said something a little more explicit to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She walks out the door with a swish of fabric as she readjusts her skirt and Bucky turns back to Clint to see his eyes following Natasha out the room. Right. That makes sense, she’s gorgeous and she knows how to play it. Of course he’d be watching her. Bucky tries to smother the jealousy that pokes at his gut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s really something else,” Clint says, his voice full of admiration.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. And she knows how to communicate with Clint, which Bucky can’t do for the life of him. He waves and then wiggles his fingers. “You wanna try and teach me some?” he asks, dragging Clint’s attention away from the door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Clint says. “You really want to learn. Alright.” He swivels round to sit cross-legged on the bed and gestures for Bucky to come and sit in front of him. “I can try.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky kicks his boots off and curls himself up onto the bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint starts with the alphabet, although he admits he’s only passing good with spelling in his own language, so Bucky fingerspelling out in </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> own tongue is probably not going to help them much. He gets more confident as they go along, his body relaxing from the sharp, taut lines it had been before. And his smile comes hesitantly, but more often. Bucky does everything he can not to bring more attention to it, scared that the wrong word will break the tenuous peace they’re building.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He messes up a gesture and Clint reaches out to readjust his fingers, leaning over into Bucky’s space to gently shift his thumb into the right position and swivel his wrist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, I’m gonna show you something,” Clint says after they’ve gone through the alphabet a couple of times and Clint claims Bucky is almost understandable. He starts to move his hands in firm motions, but faster than Bucky can follow, then looks at Bucky expectantly, Bucky just raises his eyebrows. “Ah… right,” Clint says, and repeats the motions, more slowly and deliberately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky begins to repeat them back, concentrating as he looks down at his hands. It’s hard working in mirror image and as he fumble, Clint leans out again and takes his hands, switching their places. His skin is warm and rough from hard work as it slides Bucky’s hands into place and carefully unfurls his fingers, then tugs them forwards and back in the motions he’d just made himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is something soothing about the motions as Clint directs his hands over and over again in the same pattern until Bucky can do it unguided.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His hands are cold when Clint releases them, and Bucky’s tempted to make the signs incorrectly just for another moment of that warmth, but his pride won’t let him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He makes the motions and Clint grins at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Course, you haven’t got the facial expressions down, you look like you want me to die, but that’s pretty good otherwise!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What did I just say?” Bucky asks, as clearly as he can, making sure that Clint’s looking right at him. Clint grins cheekily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint is the greatest,” he says. “I wish I could be more like Clint.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky stares at him and watches as Clint disintegrates into laughter, tipping over backwards onto the creaky old bed, rolling as he laughs fit to shake the place to tinder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky pushes at his leg, not allowing his hand to linger on the muscle there, and Clint’s laughter slowly subsides.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do I say ‘you’re not funny’?” he asks. Clint squints at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t tell what you just said, but I’m guessing it wasn’t amused,” he says with a sigh. He sits up, the motion entirely accomplished by his stomach muscles and Bucky does not think about that, he does not. The edges of Clint’s tattoos peek out around the collar of his borrowed shirt, and Bucky doesn’t think about them, either, or how they lead down to Clint’s back, which is probably as warm as his hands - warmer maybe. “I’ll be serious now. This is how you sign my name.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t wait for Clint to adjust his hands this time, just signs the symbol that had come up twice in Clint’s little joke phrase. Clint’s mouth falls open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“OK, genius,” he says. “This is how you sign ‘let’s eat’. Gotta get the important things right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint leads him through a half dozen or so basic phrases and their responses, stopping every now and then to quiz him on them. They cover directions and general enquiries, although it’s a drop in the ocean to all the possible scenarios Bucky can think of.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How do you sign-” he starts, when there’s a knock on the door. Clint clearly doesn’t hear it, because he seems confused and taps Bucky on the shoulder when he turns away from him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha doesn’t wait for a reply, just walks in with a tray laden with food. She sets it down and then signs something at Clint, who blushes the colour of the perfect sunrise and signs something back. She replies, still not saying a word, and her eyebrow raises flirtatiously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky reminds himself that for all he legally owns the man, he has no say over him or his emotions and Clint could do a lot worse for himself than having some fun with Natasha.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Should I give you two the room?” he asks, keeping his tone light as though he’s joking as he scoops up one of the plates of food. His stomach rumbles at the rich aroma of roast meat. He picks the other up to pass it to Clint, trying not to make it too obvious that he’s leaning between the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be ridiculous,” Natasha says, poking at Bucky’s cheek. “I was just asking Clint if you were treating him well,” she says, signing along with a generous wink in Clint’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Clint agrees, although he’s not as good a liar as Natasha. He can’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes. He looks down at the food and his eyes light up. “Is this lamb? I haven’t had lamb in years.” He tears into it. Then stops, food still hanging out of his mouth, and looks up at Bucky with wide, worried eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks, managing to remember the signs for both ‘what’ and ‘wrong’, even trying to school his facial expression into the exaggerated questioning look that Clint assures him is necessary. Clint swallows his mouthful quickly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can eat?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course you can eat,” Bucky says. “Natasha brought you food, you’ve gotta be hungry. Why wouldn’t you eat?” Clint stares at him</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re talking too fast,” Natasha says, poking him in his flesh arm, before signing his words again. Bucky restrains himself from telling her to mind her own business, because Clint needs to understand. He wonders how often slaves get to eat and how many rules there are concerning that, and how many masters Clint’s had before who wouldn’t have wanted to put up with a slave who couldn’t hear them and yet still refused to lose his sense of humour.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great! Thanks,” Clint says, before starting to stuff the food in his mouth again. Natasha signs something else at him that makes Clint flush again before eating a bit more conservatively. He signs ‘sorry’.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you two getting on?” Natasha asks, perching on the bed next to them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty well,” Bucky says while Clint’s mouth is full. “I thought you said you were going to send someone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I sent myself,” she says. “I wanted to see how your adorable new friend was doing.” Clint blinks at her signs and releases his food for a moment to sign something back. It’s not a pleasant feeling to be excluded, but Bucky reminds himself that this was probably how Clint spent the last few years, or however long it has been since he was enslaved. Bucky can at least allow him this, even if he does feel that spike of jealousy digging in again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There are guards downstairs,” Natasha says. “So you might want to stay up here. If anyone comes along, at least look like you’re enjoying yourselves. You’re lucky, James,” she says finally, making Bucky turn to her in surprise. “They’re looking for a man travelling alone. They certainly don’t expect a spy from Brooklyn to have bought a slave.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky shifts and gives her a glare, which she pays no attention to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it, though,” she tells them as she stands up, brushing crumbs from her skirts. “You are both wearing entirely too many clothes to be spending time in one of my rooms during the day. If they decide to do a room check, you’re going to look damned suspicious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She heads for the door and turns to sign one last message to Clint which makes his eyebrows fly up his forehead and his hands sign back swiftly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you just say?” Bucky asks Natasha, who gives him a wicked smirk before blowing a kiss to Clint and disappearing out the door again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as she’s gone, Clint reaches for the back of his neck and pulls Bucky’s shirt off and over his head in one swift movement, smoothly revealing the expanse of his chest that Bucky has been trying not to think about: firm planes of muscle dusted with blonde hair and accented in places by thin scars. Bucky’s eyes pull up as he watches the flex of those muscles until he’s looking into Clint’s bright blue eyes again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna join me?” Clint asks, and Bucky freezes until he remembers Natasha’s words. Guards. Downstairs. Possible room check.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’s wearing more layers than Clint, and it takes him a few moments to undo the ties of his leather coat and jerkin and toss them deliberately haphazard onto the floor, then he’s pulling his shirt over his head as well, and feeling the chill breeze from where the window doesn’t quite fit right. He turns back to the bed to see Clint very studiously examining the wall next to his head… almost like he’d just been staring right at Bucky.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky shakes the thought from his head and crosses back over to the bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, maestro,” he says, “teach me your ways.” Clint frowns at him, obviously not catching the words. “Show me some more signs,” he says more clearly and Clint blinks in obvious surprise, then smiles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their state of undress does nothing to make the situation less intimate, as Clint’s hands slide up the skin of Bucky’s forearms with more and more confidence every time Bucky doesn’t get angry at him. The swipe of Clint’s thumb over the crook of his elbow, right against the exposed vein, is proprietary somehow, and sends a shiver right down Bucky’s spine as he allows Clint to arrange his body to his liking.</span>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No… it’s like…” Clint pauses, looking down at Bucky’s hands and Clint follows his gaze. Clint’s fingers are longer than Bucky’s but just as broad, with marks Bucky recognises as coming from a lifetime of hard work. Bucky drags his gaze over bitten down, ragged around the edges nails and up to scars on Clint’s forearms, almost concealed by the dense black tattoo, that could only have been from a bow string hitting the tender skin there again and again with no bracer to stop it. Clint moves, and Bucky startles a little from his almost reverie. He starts turning to face him, but one hand comes down on his shoulder, holding him in place and Clint moves behind him, muttering in the language Bucky doesn’t understand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Clint says, settling against Bucky’s back, skin brushing tantalisingly against skin in occasional light caresses. Bucky doesn’t move back into the heat radiating off Clint, seeking more contact. He stays as still as he would if he were hunting a deer, barely risking breathing in case it sends Clint away, barely trusting himself to breathe. His mind is full of his own tortured conscience, reminding him brutally that he cannot do anything about the heat building in his body right now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint’s arms come round.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t work out how to do this backwards,” Clint says, and his arms press against Bucky’s from shoulder to wrist as his hands slide down further, settling over the top of Bucky’s own. Bucky swallows uncomfortably, aware of his breeches tightening as Clint’s fingers move his own like puppets, and Clint starts to move their hands and arms together. “It’s like this,” Clint tells him, his words more of a breath in Bucky’s ear and Bucky’s so distracted by the feeling of hot breath against his cheek that he isn’t paying attention until Clint pulls back, his heat leaving empty cold in its wake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Again,” he signs quickly, before grasping Clint’s arm by the wrist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Was that too quick?” Clint asks, and he settles back into place, going over the motions more slowly this time, deliberate and careful as they move together. Bucky tracks the movement of their arms as they follow the same gestures again and again, getting faster and smoother, moving together easily. A rhythm builds up, steadily with the push and pull of it, and they are entirely in sync.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’ve-” Clint starts, but his words are swept away by the door opening and footsteps and loud voices coming through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky turns to see guards in Hydra livery and he surges back into Clint, hoping he gets the picture, hoping he can forgive him later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls his hips down, finding an unexpected hardness behind them, and Clint responds instinctually with a breathy gasp, bringing a hand up to palm at Bucky’s chest as the other slides down his thigh. Bucky can feel the tension in him, knows that this is an act they are putting on, but as Clint’s lips descend onto his throat in pretence of a kiss and he can feel the rasp of stubble against the skin of his shoulder, he can’t help but close his eyes at how real it feels. It has been a long time since he has done anything like this with someone he is actually attracted to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re busy,” he growls out, in the tongue of Hydra, pitching his voice low and gravelly. “Come back later.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guards don’t move and Clint’s mouth is moving to Bucky’s pulse point as his hand slides to where Bucky’s knife is still in its sheath at his belt, hidden from the guards at the door. Bucky stops it in its tracks with a press of his own, pushing his hips back again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not putting on a goddamn show,” he says. The guards start moving again, stepping out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just some whore slave fucking his master,” he hears as the door shuts and Bucky freezes, the words slipping over him like ice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They stay there, frozen in time for a long moment, as Bucky hears the footsteps move away and loud voices as they disturb the rest of Natasha’s customers. Then he pulls forwards, slipping out of Clint’s arms easily and going to stand beside the wall next to the window, peering out at the horses down below.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He raises five fingers to Clint, who swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple clear and almost hypnotic, then stands. Bucky doesn’t look towards his crotch, he understands your body responding to touches you would prefer to ignore; it means nothing. Clint pauses for a second, looking thoughtful, then bounces slightly on the bed, sending the wooden frame creaking and banging into the wall. He does it again and Bucky nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The footsteps come past again and Bucky darts back towards the bed, ready to swing onto it again if it looks like the door is opening, but they continue down the staircase and he can hear Natasha’s voice complaining about the disruption to business, and the clear sound of skin on skin as she lets them slap her for her insolence. He knows better than to go to her rescue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes find Clint’s and sees only determination there and he nods his thanks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He watches the squad ride away, clearly happy that nothing more illegal than prostitution is going on at this rundown inn, and he breathes a sigh of relief. It is always possible that they have posted spies, below, but he will take a single spy over an entire squad any day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are they gone?” Clint signs at him. Bucky nods and signs ‘thank you’ back, trying to put as much sincerity into his face as he can. Clint gives him a weak smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry for…” he waves at his still evident erection and Bucky shakes his head with a dismissive wave of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whore slave fucking his master,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the words echo in his brain and Bucky shakes his head firmly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They never quite return to the easy companionship as before, and Bucky won’t let Clint get as close, not that he tries. But they manage to go through some more phrases, although Bucky’s not as good or as smooth as he had been before. His mind is on other things.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky insists that Clint take the bed when night finally falls, after an evening that seems to stretch on forever. Clint grumbles but Bucky sets himself up in the wobbly chair watching the door with his hand on his knife so eventually he gives up. Bucky doesn’t sleep, can’t or won’t, it doesn’t really matter which. He takes a level of comfort in Clint being right there, his breaths audible and his chest rising up and down, still bare as, unlike Bucky, he’d seen no reason to put his clothes back on. He’s lying directly in the moonlight from the window and it slowly makes its way up his body as the night goes on, leaving not a hair untouched.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha knocks before she enters, a featherlight thing that Bucky can barely hear, it’s no wonder it doesn’t rouse Clint. She slips in with hardly a noise and looks at Bucky, stretched out as much as he can on the chair, and Clint sprawled across the bed, still half bare. She’s got a bruise on her face the colour of the shadows around her, it looks vicious but mostly cosmetic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like you put on a good show,” she whispers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did my best,” he tells her, levering himself up as muscles protest sitting in place for so long. The floorboards creak ominously beneath him and he winces. He turns to Clint, but Natasha’s already at the bedside, touching his shoulder. Clint goes for her throat with his knife, pulling it back at the last second as he recognises her. He sits up, signing ‘sorry’ at Natasha. She doesn’t bother with words, goes straight into sign, easily seen as she’s lit by the shaft of moonlight through the window. Clint’s eyes harden as they take in Natasha’s face and his hand goes up to the bruise, his face twisting in anger. He signs something, movements vicious and sharp and Natasha signs back with a forced calm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint doesn’t seem convinced, but climbs off the bed and dresses himself, taking the coat Natasha offers against the chill, and gathers up their things. Bucky takes the money she offers. Natasha will sell their horses on and make a tidy profit, but from here they go on foot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The tunnel is a well kept secret. Hydra’s forces know that there must be one, but they have yet to discover where it starts or ends. Natasha did not build it, but when she found an inn with an old smuggling tunnel to the caves below, which led due North to the river, she made the most of it. They have smuggled more people out of Hydra territory through this inn and that tunnel than currently fill Hydra’s dungeon. Everyone who works at the inn knows about it, but most of them also know someone who’s gone down it. It’s a secret by mutual agreement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The entrance isn’t on the ground floor, nor in the basement where you’d expect. There’s a crawlspace under the lowest shelf in the linen closet that leads to a darkened passageway and a staircase that goes down and down and down into the earth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha has lanterns and rations at the ready, dried meat and fruit and a bag of ship’s tack which Bucky eyes with distaste. The hard biscuits are never pleasant to eat, but he’ll take them over starving.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Natasha stops and cups Bucky’s face in her hands, pulling him down so she can lay a kiss on his brow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May your journey be swift and uneventful,” she says. “And if it is not, may your knife be swifter still.” It’s a rough translation of an old blessing. He smiles at her. Then she turns to Clint and signs something rapid and complex that Bucky cannot understand, it may be the same sentiment as she had given him, or perhaps it is something else. Clint, still half into the coat she’d given him, wraps one arm around her shoulders and gives her a brief but earnest hug. He signs something back and Bucky can just make out the roll of Natasha’s eyes in the dim light. They are taken with each other, he can tell, and he tells himself he does not care. Clint is free to like whoever he wants. His only tie to Bucky is the damned contract he should never have signed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But if he had not signed it, Clint would be back in the Hydra capital still, a slave of the gods knew who.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” Bucky says, trying to sign around the lantern in his hand, which sets the light swinging wildly. Clint understands, though, and nods. He signs one last thing to Natasha, who blows him a kiss; he returns it with a wink, and they set off into the dark, long expanse of the tunnel, towards Brooklyn, and safety.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Clint talks. Now that the pretence of him not speaking Bucky’s language is gone, he talks. He comments on the tunnel, the inn they just left, Natasha, Hydra, all of it. Bucky can’t even reply, stuck as he is with one hand on the lantern, leading the way. It’s strange. He’s spent years trapped in his own thoughts in Hydra territory, unable to trust anyone but himself, living alone and only making conversation as part of his role. He has seduced courtiers, irritated soldiers and wormed his way into the palace, but there has never been talking like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It flows over him in a litany of inconsequentiality. Clint seems determined to make up for lost time and Bucky would never admit it, but the background noise is soothing. Clint’s voice is still unsure of his pronunciations at times, but he is clear enough to understand when Bucky tunes in. He asks questions but doesn’t wait for answers and makes jokes about Hydra soldiers with the dark sense of humour of someone who has stood close to death too many times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you even seen the guy in charge?” he asks and Bucky says “yes,” even though he knows Clint cannot hear him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smooth walls and floor of the tunnel are starting to give way to the rough, jagged edges of the cave system, and he will need to pay attention or they’ll be lost forever. There are no marks down here. You are told the way and you must keep to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw him once,” Clint says. “They say he bathed in the river of the gods, asking for their strength and he received it. Well, they say that in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Empire</span>
  </em>
  <span>, anyway. Where I’m from the story goes that as he stepped out of the water he declared himself stronger than any god and they flayed the skin from his body in punishment for his arrogance. He damn well looks like it, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky can remember the face Clint is talking about all too well. He does not know how Schmidt came by his appearance; there are too many stories. Some legends he undoubtedly started himself, some are the vicious myths of those he has ground beneath his foot. Whatever happened to him, it is lost to time and his own memory. Bucky doubts that even Schmidt remembers which tale is true anymore, his touch with reality is tenuous at best. He believes all the lies he has told, and that has made him more dangerous than ever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He looks like a skinned rabbit,” Clint says. “I think it’s supposed to be scary, but it just makes me queasy, you know? Maybe that’s the point? If everyone throws up every time they look at you, they aren’t exactly going to stab you in the back - and if they’re doubled over emptying their guts, then I guess it </span>
  <em>
    <span>looks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like they’re bowing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky takes the next right, then the third left, sticking to the directions he has memorised, and following the sound of water. Clint stays close behind him, the murmur of his voice constant. Bucky wonders if it’s a fear reflex, to fill the quiet with noise just to feel like you’re not alone. He reaches back and grabs Clint’s hand, squeezing it for a second before letting go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he signs, and Clint nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m great. I love being in a maze of caves underground on the run from an evil empire that will burn me alive for espionage if they catch me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The punishment for espionage is a sky burial,” Bucky says, almost absently. Clint frowns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t catch that,” he says. Bucky shakes his head. Clint doesn’t need to know that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, fine… keep your secrets,” Clint says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and Natasha,” Bucky says, then adds the signs for ‘talking’, ‘not’ and ‘me’. It’s the closest he can get to getting his point across. Clint frowns for a second, then a slow grin spreads over his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jealous?” he asks. Bucky glares at him, which only makes Clint grin more broadly. “Aw, no need to be jealous, Buttercup. I’m here in the creepy cave with you, aren’t I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t point out that the contract likely wouldn’t have allowed Clint to stay behind, just shakes his head and goes back to walking through the cave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be like that,” Clint calls after him, hurrying to catch up. “I swear we weren’t talking about you… well, not really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s reassuring,” Bucky grumbles, though he knows Clint can’t hear him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tasha was just making sure I was okay and that I wanted to go with you,” Clint says. “I told her that now I knew you were from Brooklyn and you didn’t want a slave, I was fine. That’s all we said. Well, almost all we said. Natasha said some other things, but they were just teasing me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a noise from further back in the cave and Bucky stops, holding up a hand to halt Clint as well. He tries his best to make the sign for ‘danger’ over his shoulder, but he doesn’t know how well he manages it, or even how well Clint can see in the lamplight, which must be mostly blocked by Bucky’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s little time to worry about it, though. The lamplight will give their position away immediately. He lowers the hood over it, plunging them into blackness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hand tangles in the back of his coat and Bucky turns to grasp Clint’s wrist, tapping at his pulse point twice in what he hopes is reassurance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The noise comes again, like legs and chittering teeth, louder than it should be and coming towards them with unnatural speed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are things within these caves that no one talks about. It’s a risk you have to be willing to take. It’s testament to Hydra’s cruelty how many people are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ground beneath them shakes slightly, and he can feel Clint tense, Bucky tightens his grip a little, trying to emphasise what a bad idea it would be to move right now. Things down here in the dark are attracted to vibrations and sound, to the way your footsteps make the ground tremble. Light, too, but not as much. The darkness is too complete for light to help them much. With their lamp shielded, it is movement or sound that will kill them now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky slows his breathing down as much as he can, and tries his hardest to make the place where their hands join as relaxed as possible, to convey with just that one touch what he means to say. They should have talked about this, but he had forgotten. It has been years since anyone has seen anything down here but stalactites.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The noise comes closer again, the sound of half a dozen, huge, chitinous legs moving across rock in furious blasts of motion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can smell it, too, now. A smell of rot and sulphur. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows what it can do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What-” Clint begins, but cuts off when Bucky squeezes his hand far too tightly, he has never been as good at judging his strength with his magical limb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The movement stops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then it comes again, towards them. The smell of sulphur is overwhelming. It clogs up Bucky’s nostrils, making him want to wretch, but he swallows back the bile as he feels the presence of something far taller than he is, and longer again than that, right in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A drop of something thick and acid falls onto his shoulder, leaving a stinging path where it rolls down his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does not move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint is a statue beside him, his hand gripping Bucky back just as tightly as they wait to see if they have been discovered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A mouth Bucky cannot see lets out a long, hissing breath before letting out a series of sickening clicks - like the snapping of bones - in a way that might be communication, but not that any human could understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he reaches out, he could touch it. But he does not reach. Some questions Bucky does not want answered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After another moment, and another long, rattling breath, it seems to decide that whatever made the sound is gone and the horrifying staccato beat of its legs hitting rock moves on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stay standing there, silently clutching each other’s hand for what feels like hours, long after the sound of the creature has moved away. Then Bucky squeezes Clint’s hand twice and releases it before lifting the hood of the lantern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck was that?” Clint whispers. Bucky shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he signs with his free hand. “Big… Bad… thing,” he manages. Clint gives a shaky laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Monster,” he says, making a sign with his hands. Bucky echoes it, one handed and Clint nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Big, bad, monster,” Bucky signs and Clint nods again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are there more?” Clint asks. Bucky shrugs again. He wants to say that there shouldn’t be many more, that these caves are dangerous, but the monster sightings are few and far between, but he doesn’t have the vocabulary in sign language. Instead, he gestures in the direction they are going, through a narrow passage on the other side of this cavern. Not, he is grateful, the way the beast had gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They set off again, but this time Clint barely talks at all, sometimes forgetting himself and starting a thought, only to cut it off again. Bucky wishes he could talk again, somehow the caves seem much darker without Clint’s voice to fill up the shadows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They find the stream Bucky’s been looking for soon enough, and start to follow it, knowing there can’t be much further now before they’re above ground again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air of relief when they see the golden light of sunrise through the cave mouth is palpable, Bucky feels like he can breathe more deeply all of a sudden, and their pace picks up until they’re practically running for the outside world. The stream they have been following gushes over rocks into the broad expanse of the East River, which will sweep down into Brooklyn before it finds the sea.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The new day seems brighter to Bucky, and the trees around them now remind him of the ones he saw as a child. He is so close to home after so very long that he wants to yell with the joy of it all. But he knows better than to celebrate when a job’s half done. They must still cross the river and then the woods, and there is no way they can risk the toll bridge or the ferry, not with Hydra hunting him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?” Clint asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Almost home,” Bucky signs back and Clint grins at him. He mimes swimming and points at the river and Clint gives him a huge thumbs up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was born on an island,” he says, tilting his head in challenge. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s swim… well… If there’s one thing I can do, it’s shoot a bow, but swimming’s up there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great,” Bucky signs back, and points further down river. If he remembers right, there’s a shallower part further down, it’s wider and the river slows down there, they might be able to wade across, if they’re lucky and the rainfall hasn’t been too high.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint starts talking again. Now they’re out in the open and he can use both hands, Bucky can make an attempt to sign back. It’s halting, and it earns more laughter from Clint than is good for Bucky’s pride, but he’s happy to see the man laughing. He already looks so much better than he had the day Bucky had bought him, like the further he gets away from the Hydra capital, the more he becomes himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Bucky ignores him for too long, searching for a crossing place, Clint even splashes him with water, right in the face, leaving Bucky spluttering, and leading to a frantic water fight that ends with both of them soaked. Bucky is very grateful that he thought to put all important papers in an oilskin before he set off. It had been intended to protect them from rain, but it seems he has inadvertently planned for Clint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s shirt is plastered to his back, making the lines of his tattoo visible, Bucky almost asks about it, brings his hands up to start signing, but stops himself at the last minute. The marks on a man’s skin are often private. He knows he has enough scars that he would prefer not to talk about; so instead he turns away and starts to walk again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are lucky to find the river low, barely waist height at its deepest part, when they come to the crossing point, and their clothes are dry enough by now that Clint strips off his shirt to keep it dry, holding his pack above his head as he strides out ahead of Bucky, and leaving Bucky with no choice but to follow him, eyes unable to slip away from the curves of Clint’s arm muscles as they heave his pack high in the air, or how the position makes the wings inked onto his back seem to spread out towards the air, as though taking flight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He is grateful that the cool water of the river is enough to chill his skin and keep things from becoming any more awkward than they already are.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Hydra guards are on horseback, and it’s that that gives them away, the steady drum of hoofbeats drawing closer an unmistakable sound.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky waves at Clint and signs horses, pointing in the direction of the noise and, quick as a flash, Clint’s climbing a tree. It’s not the route Bucky would have gone, but it works. He picks another and starts up it. He’s nowhere near as graceful as Clint, who might as well have been born in a tree from how quickly he disappears up one. Bucky is a serviceable climber though, he simply hasn’t climbed a tree since he was a child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds a wide branch away from the direction of the horses and presses as close to the trunk as he can as the hoofbeats come closer. Through the leaves, he can see Clint, standing on a branch that doesn’t look wide enough to hold him, staring out to where the riders have just come into sight. His knife is in his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky presses himself back against the tree, to conceal himself as best he can from the riders and hopes that they do not think to look up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thundering of hooves stops, and he risks a glance around the trunk to see what’s happening. They have dismounted, five of them - perhaps the same patrol who had stopped at Natasha’s last night, perhaps another one. He hadn’t really paid attention to their faces, and the uniform is enough to make them his enemies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are looking at something on the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The tracks look fresh,” one of them says and Bucky stiffens, berating himself inwardly for feeling too comfortable. He should have thought to try to disguise their trail, but he had assumed they were too deep in the woods for the patrols to find one set of footprints in amongst the undergrowth. He was complacent and if he’s not lucky, he’ll pay the price for it. Bucky hates relying on luck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They must be close,” says the one with the shiniest armour. “Spread out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They fan out, beating the bushes below them, sending all manner of wildlife and leaves scattering out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of them, carrying a longbow, walks straight towards Bucky’s tree, following what must be the disturbances he’d left in the ferns that cover the ground. Bucky curses himself again, but there’s nothing to be done now. He casts a look at Clint only to see him lifting the knife above his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky will never know which happens first: the man below him looking up or Clint throwing the knife. It cuts off the shout in the man’s throat before it makes a sound and he falls into the ferns, hidden from sight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Bucky signs emphatically across the gap between their trees. Clint grins and gives him a stupid little salute, which only makes Bucky glare more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lawrence?” a voice says, and Bucky presses himself against the tree again, seeing Clint do the same out of the corner of his eye. There is a rustling of bushes as a second man comes towards them “Lawrence?” he says again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky assesses the situation. It’s now two against four and a fight seems inevitable. Two against three would be better odds, so he raises himself up into a crouch on the branch and waits. The second man comes round the tree, almost tripping over Lawrence’s body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky drops directly onto his shoulders and there’s a sickening crack of bones breaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard doesn’t move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He only has a few seconds before the element of surprise is gone, and he has to use them well. His own dagger is already out of its sheath in his hand and he’s covered half the ground towards the leader before the man’s even had time to turn round.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He barrels into him and they fall to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hydra guards wield short swords, the most important thing he can do right now is keep him from being able to use Bucky goes in close, past the arm that is already extended, and stabs wildly, but hears only the ear-rending scream of metal against metal. His dagger has hit only armour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can hear shouting from behind him, and there is the telltale sound of an arrow hitting its target. He can’t spare enough attention to see whether that target was Clint.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The leader pushes him off, and Bucky staggers back, flipping his dagger in his hand and taking up a bracing stance. Another arrow </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunks</span>
  </em>
  <span> into something and he hears a woman shout, but other than to be grateful it is not Clint’s voice crying out in pain, he does not pay attention.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The leader circles him, swinging his short sword in little teasing arcs that make the metal flash through rays of sunlight. Bucky feints forwards and the blade flashes up. He feints again to the other side and watches the man match him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unlike Bucky, he’s slowed down by armour, but that makes him more difficult to hit. Luckily, Bucky knows the weaknesses in Hydra armour; he has spent years surrounded by these guards, unable to do anything but watch. He knows where his blade needs to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a matter of timing. He feints left and spins right. He isn’t quite fast enough, underestimating his opponent’s speed, and he feels the blade of the short sword stab into his arm. However, it seems that fortune favours him today, and it was not the flesh arm the man wounded. The sound is of a sword striking wood, and the surprise of that is enough to garner Bucky an extra second. He darts past the guard’s extended arm and slams his dagger under and up, up into the unprotected armpit as deep as it will go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gasp the man makes sounds startled as his blood spills out onto Bucky’s hand. He has enough life left in him to look at Bucky in honest confusion at what has just happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hail… Hydra…” he says. And Bucky leans in as close as he can, looking right into the man’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not if I have anything to say about it,” he says and in one movement he tears his dagger free again and the man collapses, life leaving his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky whirls around, sure he’ll see another guard bearing down on him, but the forest is quiet behind him. Two guards lay dead, each stuck with arrows. One jutting out from the eye of their helmet. Clint stands at the base of the tree where Bucky had left him, lowering a bow and looking entirely unfazed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your arm!” Clint says, hurrying towards him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Bucky says, although it hangs half-limp by his side and he can barely move it. He feels no pain, though, so he can manage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw him stab you,” Clint says, grabbing at Bucky’s wrist. He can’t even pull it away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spell is gone, leaving the pottery and wood that Tony had bespelled in place. Apparently his four-year old protection charms could not stand up to a direct assault by a short sword. Clint gapes at it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Magic,” Bucky signs as best he can with the one hand he can use. Then adds out loud: “I lost my old one, I had to get a new one.” Clint must catch enough to understand because his eyebrows go up and he nods, letting go of Bucky’s wrist. Although, his eyes keep straying to where it hangs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to move,” Bucky forces himself to say, dragging his eyes away from the calm, deadly power of Clint’s arms. “If one patrol can come this way, so can another, and they will when this one doesn’t report back.” Clint clearly doesn’t understand him, so Bucky signs as much of that as he knows how, which is pretty much just ‘us,’ ‘move,’ and ‘now’, and Clint nods, grabbing his stuff and an assortment of items from the guards, including a couple of money pouches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky grabs the horses. He pulls the emblems from their backs quickly. There is no need for stealth now, and if they leave the horses wandering with Hydra barding, someone will come looking for their owners. He swings himself into the saddle of a large black mare and Clint climbs onto the piebald next to it, the quiver slung around his waist and the bow on his shoulder like it belongs there. Bucky pulls his eyes away from him and turns to the other horses, slapping their hind quarters to sending them off into the forest. He hopes they will not find their way home too quickly. Then they ride.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Brooklyn border here follows another river, though this one more difficult to pass. Brooklyn prefers it that way. There is a ferry, though, if you know where to look. Hydra does not. It’s the same ferry Bucky used to enter this thrice-damned land four years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes his bearings from the sun and rides to the west of where the ferry should be, trusting Clint to keep up and eager to leave Hydra land behind forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every movement from the corner of his eye he thinks is another patrol, every sound is a Hydra guard calling for their heads, but when he looks it is just a hawk taking flight from a tree branch, and when he listens, it is just the call of a bird.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They ditch the horses a few miles from the border, leaving them tied to a tree. and Bucky takes pains to cover their tracks as they go. Clint assists with tricks that Bucky hasn’t seen before, laying false trails. They take the long route to the ferry, the sun pulling overhead until it is getting low in the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are close when Clint taps his arm and points upwards. Bucky shields his eyes and squints into the sky to see a bird circling high above them and he smiles in relief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Friend,” he signs at Clint, who looks confused, but nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam is waiting for them, Redwing swooping down onto his shoulder as they make their way down the scrambling cliff side to where the boat is hidden. He looks older, but annoyingly it looks good on him. Bucky had been prepared to mock his new wrinkles, but there is little to mock. He is dressed in greens and browns, and his hair is braided neatly as it always is. Bucky wonders if he’s found anyone to help with that yet, or if it is still his mother’s handiwork.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Heard there was a bit of a skirmish in the woods,” Sam says. “Could you not have avoided making a mess just this once?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It could have been worse,” Bucky says with a shrug. “You two got nothing better to do than spy on me all day?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t get your dumb ass killed,” Sam replies. “I don’t want to be the one to tell the king that you died of your own stupidity. He’d be heartbroken and I’d have to listen to him cry about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re just sad because if I died, he’d make a national feast day in my memory,” Bucky says, finally getting close enough to grasp Sam’s forearm in greeting. “If you died, he’d probably just get Redwing a new pet.” He can see Sam taking in his appearance, the way his arm hangs down and the bruises and dirt across his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Four years in Hydra definitely didn’t make you any nicer, smarter, or better looking,” Sam tells him with a shake of his head. He looks over at Clint, who is looking between them in complete confusion. “So who’s your friend?” he asks, clearly noting the slave tattoos on Clint’s forearms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is Clint,” Bucky says, managing to sign that. “Clint, this is Sam,” he spells out Sam’s name. “And… Redwing.” That takes a little longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi Sam,” Clint says with a wave. “Bucky bought me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky what?!” Sam says, his jaw dropping open. Bucky wishes he were an artist, or a mage, able to capture the beauty of this moment perfectly. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>bought </span>
  </em>
  <span>someone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t leave him there,” Bucky says with a shrug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you freed him?” Sam demands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet… gotta figure out how,” Bucky tells him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Barnes, you’d better have a damn good excuse for this, or Steve is going to flip his shit,” Sam says, which makes Bucky wince. Sam’s right. Steve will not be impressed by Bucky buying a man, not for any reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He rescued me,” Clint says, clearly not caring that he doesn’t understand what they’re saying. He can understand Sam’s outrage and that’s enough. It occurs to Bucky that this may be some sort of insurance policy, to work out if Bucky had been telling the truth about slavery in Brooklyn and his intentions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to free him just as soon as I can see Tony about breaking the contract,” Bucky says, patting Sam on his shoulder. “It’s magic and I don’t want to accidentally kill us both.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Sam says. “Well… you definitely don’t make things easy on yourself, do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where would be the fun in that?” Bucky asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They push the boat out onto the river and climb in, rowing down stream a good way before they put to shore again, Redwing flying overhead to spot any possible Hydra allies before they appear. Sam asks Clint questions, which goes about as well as Bucky expects, with Clint only understanding half of them and clearly deliberately mishearing others. He smirks to himself at Sam’s awkwardness as he tries to ask about whether Clint is from one of the lands Hydra occupies and Clint starts talking about concubines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first step onto the other side of the river is like stepping into a new world. It’s all Bucky can do not to fall to his knees as Sam drags the boat up and into its hiding place, pulling the netting, covered in tree branches and bushes down over it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m due at Queen’s Pass in two days, or I’d escort you,” Sam says. “Try not to kill anyone or buy any more slaves, okay, Barnes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No promises,” Bucky tells him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice meeting you, Clint,” Sam says, shaking Clint’s hand firmly. “Hopefully when I see you next, it’ll be as a free man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts to walk away, Redwing taking to the sky again, but he turns before he rounds the bend and calls back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, and Barnes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do something about your hair, Redwing says he’s seen neater birds nests.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky shoots him a rude hand gesture, but when Sam’s disappeared out of sight, he can’t help but reach up to pat his hair a little self consciously. Sam’s right, it’s a complete tangle and he pulls out what feels like half a tree with a wince as it yanks some strands right out of his head. He glares at the offending twig and throws it to the ground, but there’s no use doing anything tonight. They’ve got at least one more night of sleeping in the woods before they read the castle tomorrow. He sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s missed Brooklyn, but he hasn’t missed the buzz of palace gossip. He knows that stepping foot in the city without his hair properly tamed and braided will be enough to keep the whisperers happy for months. It’s not that he doesn’t want it, but with one hand effectively lost to him, it’s going to be hell trying to twist his hair into the proper styles and asking Clint… well, that would hardly be appropriate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs, and puts that thought away for a later time. He will deal with that problem when he comes to it, and if he has to walk through the palace with his hair loose, then he’ll apologise to his ma. Hopefully she’ll be so glad to see him alive, she won’t mind the wagging tongues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This way,” he signs to Clint, who reaches up and pulls a large green leaf from somewhere behind Bucky’s ear, grinning cheerfully at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now they are in Brooklyn, Bucky barely needs to check where they are going. They’re less than a day’s ride from his home and he could navigate these woods blindfolded. He’d spent half his childhood out here with Steve, avoiding adults and pretending to be fighting dragons. As big as the woods are, he’s walked almost every inch of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in a good mood,” Clint says, turning to walk backwards in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to trip,” Bucky says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re smiling,” Clint says. “That’s weird. I’ve known you two days and that’s weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m home,” Bucky says, Clint gets a thoughtful sort of look on his face, then promptly trips backwards over a tree root and ends up with his feet in the air. Bucky huffs and strides over to offer him a hand, which Clint promptly ignores in favour of flipping back onto his feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is Brookyn, huh?” Clint says, looking around. “Doesn’t look that different to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s different,” Bucky says, wishing he could sign well enough to tell Clint all the stories of his childhood here. He sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it,” Clint says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Bucky signs, lifting his hands to try and indicate he doesn’t have the words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me about it anyway,” Clint says, shrugging. “You can tell me again later, when you can sign better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You won’t understand,” Bucky signs back, Clint just shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll make you happy,” he says. “I’ll just make things up in my head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky eyes him suspiciously, but Clint seems honest enough, so he starts talking. His words are halting at first, not used to being the one to talk, but after a few minutes, they come more easily, especially when he remembers that no one can really hear them but him and the trees. Clint just smiles at him and gestures for him to go on whenever he hesitates, though he clearly understands less than half of what Bucky is saying as he describes the ridiculous escapades he and Steve had used to have. Including the one where they set out to ambush an entire gang of bandits all by themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were barely tall enough to reach the lock on the door,” he says, with a chuckle. “I have no idea what we thought we were going to do to a dozen or more heavily armed thieves. We thought we were invincible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has missed this place, and while he’d crushed the feeling as far down inside him as he could while he was in Hydra lands, now he’s back, there’s this sick-sweet rush of homesickness rising in his stomach, which is stupid, because he’s home. No matter how close he is now, though, he is struck by how much he has missed. Four years is a long time. His little sister was thirteen when he left. People have died and married and given birth in that time. His news has been spotty at best and the Brooklyn he knew is gone, changed into something new without him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever else has changed, he gives thanks that the cabin at the waypoint is still there, right where he remembers it, down in the dip, nestled between the crooked old oak and the glasslike water of the pool, where fish still break the surface every so often. Clint looks uncertain as he watches Bucky push open the door. He still steps inside when Bucky beckons him in, though, even if he looks a little uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smell hits Bucky first, rich wood and the sweet oil that had been used to treat it. It’s such a familiar smell it take him back for a moment, as though he’s walking through the door for the first time, resting on a hunting trip. The Wayhouse is a home away from home for anyone who is in the know, the only rule being to take what you need and leave what you can. Bucky’s stayed here on numerous occasions. Some of the clothes in the cupboards are his, and he recognises more than one of the thick woollen blankets over the chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are two small bedrooms and an area with some seating and a fire to cook on, and it feels like they’ve shut the rest of the world out as Clint slips out to hunt for their dinner and Bucky finds the coded record book of who’s stayed recently. No one leaves their real name, but he recognises some of them; it’s interesting to see the notes they’ve left. There have been Hydra scouts spotted frequently along the border, and some bandit activity to the north that people think may also be Hydra related. Someone claims to have seen a unicorn nearby, but Bucky’s going to take that with a pinch of salt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they’re cooking the rabbits Clint shot over the fire, Bucky turns to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about your home?” he asks, signing the words he knows. Clint goes still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never really had much of one,” he says. “Grew up in the Western Isles. Parents died when I was young. Ran off and lived on the road until I ended up with Hydra.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t remember it?” Bucky asks, unable to find the sign for remember, but Clint seems to understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I remember it fine,” Clint says. “Lots of fields, lots of sea, not a lot else.” He shrugs and Bucky takes that to be the end of that conversation. Instead he comments on how Clint could have used a snare rather than an arrow on the rabbits and they argue the benefits of hunting and trapping. Bucky finds himself at a complete disadvantage from the language barrier, unable to convey anything more than the simplest arguments.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But snares you can just leave!” he says, his hands unable to translate. “You set it up and then go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t understand you, therefore I win,” Clint says, scooping up some stew with a slice of Natasha’s bread and taking a huge bite before licking his fingers clean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how arguments work,” Bucky tells him, but Clint pretends he doesn’t know Bucky’s said anything and makes exaggerated noises of enjoyment as he eats his rabbit stew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky finds a set of cards that someone has left in one of the drawers, and it turns out that Bucky doesn’t need to be able to sign to beat Clint thoroughly, five times over. Clint manages two wins of his own, but eventually Bucky has to cry out, his body feeling the effects of several interrupted nights in a row. He can’t afford to fall asleep tomorrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in Brooklyn or not, Bucky can’t give up the habit of sleeping lightly and he wakes to shouting. It takes him a second to remember where he is, his mind still groggy and just who it is crying out on the other side of the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lies there, debating whether or not to do anything. He doesn’t know if Clint would thank him for it. But Bucky has woken from too many nightmares alone to wish that on someone he... Human contact is important, telling himself that he would do the same for any friend he travelled with. There doesn’t have to be any greater meaning here. He pushes himself out of the bed and walks out of his room and walks over to Clint’s door, knocking before he remembers Clint probably won’t hear, and opening it a crack.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s thrashing on the bed, his tongue crying out words in his own language, words that Bucky can’t understand, but can hear the torment in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s inside the room before he knows it, striding to the bed. He reaches out one hand to touch Clint’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Clint wakes, he flings out an arm, catching a blow to Bucky’s ribs that makes him wince, before he blinks, seeming to realise where he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint says something in that same, strange tongue before slipping back into the language Bucky recognises. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Bucky signs and Clint nods unconvincingly. “What…” Bucky signs, pausing because he doesn’t know the sign for dream and instead mimics sleeping for a second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bad memories,” Clint says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to talk?” Bucky signs. Clint looks at him, lips drawn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve met me, you should know by now I always want to talk,” he says with a shaky grin. Bucky raises an eyebrow, unamused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not important,” Clint says. “I was dreaming about the prison again. But it’s over and I’m not there any more, so it doesn’t even matter.” Bucky taps Clint on the shoulder to get his attention and finger spells ‘prison’ at him, raising his eyebrows in question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t start off as a slave,” Clint says, staring out the window to where the shadowy trees sway in the light breeze. “Well, not really. They caught us stealing - me and my brother - so they sent us to the prison camps.” Bucky doesn’t speak. He’s heard about the camps and what happens there. It’s a death sentence, usually, whether from the accidents that happen in the quarries, starvation, or just because one of the guards gets too enthusiastic with his whip. “I thought we’d escape, at first. Barney always had a plan… but he didn’t this time. He just told me to keep my head down and so I did. But I thought he had a plan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s hands are balled into fists so tight, Bucky can see the skin stretched over his knuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t have a plan,” Clint says. “I tried to escape… and he caught me. He was convincing me my plan wouldn’t work when they caught us both. Barney took the blame and they… well… he didn’t survive what they did to him. Me, I just got a beating. They knocked something loose in my head, and my hearing never fixed itself.” He turns abruptly, to look Bucky in the eye, his gaze fierce. “I did escape though. It took me three more years but I got the fuck out of there. I found a woman who did tattoos, to cover up the mess they’d made of my back. I remembered that… I remembered at home people used to wear their stories on their skin, so I decided that was what I do. The wings are for freedom and the circles are memories. I always meant to get more... but... Two years later, I’m travelling with some other folks, people from all over the place. There were even a couple from Brooklyn. We did okay for ourselves until Hydra decided we didn’t have licence to travel, so they rounded us up and declared us criminals and made us into slaves of the empire. Two years of freedom…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t have the words to comment, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to sign them. There probably aren’t words. He lifts a hand to grasp at Clint’s shoulder, trying to provide some sort of support. If he could sign it, he’d tell Clint that he’d hunt every last one of those guards and slavers down. If he could sign it, he’d tell Clint that the information he’s carrying, the information Clint has almost died to protect without even knowing what it is, will maybe be enough to bring Hydra down for good. But he can’t sign it, so he just rests his hand on Clint’s shoulder, his fingers feeling the ridged lines of scars under those beautiful wings, trying to convey all that meaning with just the touch of his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They look at each other and Bucky thinks that maybe Clint understands the things he can’t quite say. He traces the lines of Clint’s face with his eyes, the shape of his mouth, the fall of his hair and the fierce life in his eyes. He can hear their breathing over the sounds of nighttime that come through the window as they stare at each other and Bucky feels himself tilt forwards, drawn to Clint like gravity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He catches himself before he can do anything they would both regret, pulling himself back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should get some more sleep,” Clint says, pulling away too. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky hesitates, but Clint pushes him off the bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, I’m fine. You look like a raccoon, go and sleep or you’ll fall asleep while walking tomorrow and I’ll have to drag you to the castle, and I don’t know where we’re going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky eyes him carefully, but Clint seems determined to appear fine and Bucky has no right to accuse him of anything else, so he makes his way uneasily back to his room and lies down, staring at the ceiling until sleep catches up with him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he wakes up the next day, the sun is already high in the sky and he groans, rubbing at his eyes. He makes the mistake of looking at himself in the mirror over the fireplace and grimaces at what he sees. There’s no way he can go to the palace like this, crusted in dirt and blood, so he sighs and heads out to the pool, stripping off his clothes as he goes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The snarls in his hair are stubborn, and some of the dirt seems to be baked in, but he manages to get himself clean enough to pass muster, shaking his hair off like a dog as he steps out of the lake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears a strangled noise and looks up to see Clint standing in the doorway of the house, bright red and eyes wide, staring at him, and Bucky stares at him, nonplussed for a moment, before he realises that he’s very naked. Quickly, he pulls his clothes back on, doing up the ties of his breeches as hurriedly as he can with one hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he signs. “Thought you were asleep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have nothing to apologise for,” Clint says, his eyes glued to somewhere distinctly below Bucky’s face. They stand in awkward tableau for a second before Bucky shakes his head, sending droplets of water showering out, and starts moving towards the building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They grab some food as Bucky contemplates the issue of his appearance. He has clothes good enough to appear in court, that’s not the problem, the problem is his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sets about working the braids while it’s still wet and easier to handle, but the slippery strands keep pulling out of place, leaving him either holding nothing, or a mess of tangles and having to comb it all out again. He manages to get his broken hand to move enough to push down and hold things in place, but it’s not enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He growls in frustration as yet another braid falls apart between his fingers. He should be able to do this. He’s done it before, when his mother or his sister weren’t around to help. If it weren’t for his damned arm…!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh… is it important?” Clint asks around a mouthful of bread. Bucky looks at him and sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… it’s… a Brooklyn thing,” he signs. The idea of appearing before the court without his hair braided is embarrassing. It would be like showing up with no shirt on. Clint, with his short hair is fine, but Bucky’s hair’s done little but grow over the past few years. He reminds himself that he’s alive and showing up with unbraided hair is hardly important in the scheme of things. But he imagines his mother’s face and takes a deep breath, determined to start again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can have a go,” Clint says, wiggling his fingers. “If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint doesn’t know, Bucky realises. Clint has no idea what he’s offering. He might have met some people from Brooklyn before, but Bucky doubts he ever learnt much about the culture here. He doesn’t know that the braiding has </span>
  <em>
    <span>significance</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. Bucky’s never let anyone but his ma or his sister touch his hair to braid it, not even Steve or Natasha. He’d never even thought about it, and they would never offer. It’s a ritual of trust and… intimacy. It’s for family and lovers, not for passing acquaintances. Each family has their style of braiding, and you teach it to your spouse when the time comes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers his father braiding his mother’s hair as she rocked Becca to sleep, and his mother fondly pushing his father into a chair to redo his before they had to go anywhere important. He remembers the looks they had given each other, that he hadn’t understood properly as a child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers his mother holding him down so that she could start braiding his, and then Becca making a right mess of it the first time she tried. And he remembers the first time he had to braid his mother’s hair, after his father didn’t return from battle. He remembers her crying and being so scared that he would mess it up. But she’d smiled through her tears as she’d looked at his attempt, and kissed the palms of both his hands telling him it was beautiful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been terrible, he knows that, but she had worn it for a week with no hint of lost pride.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint doesn’t know what he’s asking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” he says. “I’ll do without.” He takes a breath and another, telling himself that his mother will understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you tell me what to do, I could have a go,” Clint says. His face is open and concerned, obviously seeing that this means </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Bucky, though there’s no way he understands what.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky looks at him and feels his resolve falter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not like it would mean any of that to Clint, after all. To him this is just lending a helping hand. Bucky’s not taking advantage of him, no matter what it might feel like to him. No one would know but Bucky… not really. It still feels like he would be taking some sort of liberty, like it would be unfair to let Clint do this without explaining what it means.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The alternative is going into the castle with his hair hanging loose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives in to his weakness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he signs, and then tries his best to describe what his family braids should look like, which strands should be thick and which thin, how to combine the two from the sides into the multi-layered braid in the centre, that hangs where the rest of his hair lies loose. Clint seems a little overwhelmed by the complexity, but he nods and moves round to slide behind Bucky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s fingers slide into Bucky’s hair, who shivers as they reach his scalp and comb through, tugging just a little. He hands the comb back over his shoulder and sits as still as he can manage, reminding himself that this is not a big deal, it is out of necessity, not… anything else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint starts to talk about doing the hair for a girl in the travelling show he’d been with, and what a nightmare her hair had been, thick and curly and how by the time he’d got the comb from one side of her head to the other, the first side would have tangled itself back up again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clint’s hands are gentle as they tug at his hair, more gentle than Bucky’s sister’s ever were, and more gentle than his mother’s, too. They work the braids nimbly, pausing as Clint checks he’s doing it right, and occasionally brushing against his ear or the sensitive line of Bucky’s neck just behind it. Bucky swallows and forces himself not to move, to sit as upright as he can and not lean back, although he can feel Clint behind him, warm and solid and right there, touching his hair and twisting it into place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels Clint’s knuckles against the back of his neck, just the slightest touch, but it burns into his skin, making his stomach flip with arousal and forcing him to draw a deep breath. His eyes close unconsciously at the sensation of the comb pulling through his hair and gently scraping across his scalp, followed by Clint’s fingertips. Bucky feels like he’s drifting in some warm place of contentment, lulled into a trance by the feeling of hands in his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been so long, and Clint’s fingers are sure and tug just enough that he’s practically melting right there. Clint could do anything, say anything, right now, and Buck doesn’t know that he would care. He wants the moment to stretch on forever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat is dry, his head empty and hollow like he’s been emptied out of everything but the sensation of Clint’s fingers moving through his hair and the heavy, hot line of Clint’s thigh against his side. Clint runs his fingers through the underlayer again as he combs out the tangles and Bucky can’t help a little hum of pleasure at the sensation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh...I think I’m done,” Clint says, springing up, breaking Bucky out of the almost hypnotised state he’d been in. “I should get dressed. I saw some clothes in the cupboard. Is it okay if I take some. I want to look respectable if we’re going to a castle, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky barely has time to convey that yes, that’s what the clothes are there for, before Clint disappears into his room, leaving Bucky to take some more deep breaths and try to shake off the strange feeling settling beneath his skin. He crosses over to the mirror and looks again and has to blink when he sees his father staring back at him for a moment. But then the image is gone and he’s himself again, his hair braided, a little lopsided and a little uneven, but clearly and recognisably</span>
  <em>
    <span> his</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The city hasn’t really changed. The turrets of the palace can be seen for miles, as they have for centuries, and they are hung as Bucky remembers with brightly coloured banners and pennants that fly high in the breeze. The streets are wide and the people who walk them are friendly, calling out to each other and stopping to chat. Even the guards are more inclined to talk than to shout. It’s the atmosphere, more than anything, that makes it different from Hydra. There is no air of suspicion in the Brooklyn air, everyone goes about their day. It’s not paradise, it has the same problems all cities have - although it seems Tony and Steve made good on that planned sewer system while he was gone. The real difference is that here you cannot feel the noose tightening around your neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They are waved in at the main city gate by a guard Bucky vaguely recognises and make their way up the winding streets towards the palace.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint is all eyes, looking everywhere at once, fascinated by the market stalls that sell their wares with cheerful calls to passers by, and who offer deals and try to lure people in with compliments. Everywhere in Brooklyn is colour. People paint their homes and shops, each trying to outdo the next, and they wear colour, too. In Hydra paints and dyes had been so expensive that only the richest could afford them, but Brooklyn is awash with rainbows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, there are still pickpockets, darting here and there. Bucky sees Clint catch one trying to go for his coin purse, before giving her a silver half-crown and pushing her on her way. Bucky looks away quickly, pretending he hasn’t seen, and guides Clint between two bakery stalls who are clearly engaged in an ongoing war for supremacy. Clint seems charmed by the insults they are merrily slinging at each other in an attempt to convince the bystanders that their bread is by far superior. Bucky almost has to drag him away bodily as things start to get more dramatic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Through the crowds, he sees a familiar face watching and he gives a small nod before watching May disappear into the crowds again, presumably to tell the King and his spymaster that Bucky has returned, and probably that he’s brought a guest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The main road to the palace is lined with apple trees and Clint watches in amazement as kids climb up into the boughs to throw the fruit down for each other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that… allowed?” he asks, clearly worried that the children will be caught. The punishment for stealing in Hydra - sentence to be carried out immediately - is to have your hand chopped off; it doesn’t matter how old you are.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s why they’re here,” Bucky says, facing him. “Would you like one?” He goes over to the nearest tree and calls up to the boy sitting there to throw him down a couple. The kid doesn’t even waver, just tosses two red apples right down to him and Bucky hands one over to Clint with a smile, watching as he bites into it and the juice runs down his chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The apple tastes just like Bucky remembers. He can’t help but smile at the sharpness on his tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there anything I should know?” Clint asks, fiddling with his coat. “Before we see the king, I mean. I mean. Do I have to kneel or…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I mean it’s traditional to bow,” Bucky says, demonstrating, and Clint nods, mimicking him. “But it’s not important,” he says and signs. Clint doesn’t look convinced. Bucky doesn’t quite know how to tell him that the king would abolish all ceremony if he thought he could, but as it is, he keeps only the bare minimum.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They walk up to the gates and Bucky knocks twice. After a second, the small hatch in the door swings open and a familiar face looks out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re late, Lord Barnes,” Coulson says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Had to make myself pretty,” Bucky tells him, glancing at Clint to make sure he’s alright.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And your friend?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I already look pretty,” Clint says, grinning widely. Coulson’s eyebrow rises, but he closes the hatch and Bucky hears the chuntering of the chain that opens the gates.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he just call you ‘lord’?” Clint whispers and Bucky winces. He’d been hoping Clint might not catch that, but it wasn’t like he could hide it for long. “Are you... important?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just me,” Bucky says. But then the doors are open and Coulson’s giving him an honour guard or something to lead him to Steve’s reception room, like Bucky doesn’t know the way better than the back of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint gets quiet as they walk through the palace, his eyes still wide as he looks around at tapestries and suits of armour, but rather than enraptured, like he had been outside, he seems nervous now. He keeps scratching at his face and his eyes keep darting to the sides, where the guards are escorting them. Bucky catches his arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he signs. Clint nods twice, but his face isn’t inspiring confidence. “It’s okay,” Bucky signs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They take them the long route to Steve’s door, which Bucky doesn’t comment on, but he imagines must be on purpose, and one of the guards steps forwards smartly to knock, before Bucky can just barge in, which is how he usually arrives.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” Steve’s voice calls, and Bucky lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding because Steve’s alright. It’s one thing to know it, another thing entirely to hear it for himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can take it from here, thanks,” he tells the guard who’s about to open the door for him. He pries them away and draws a deep breath before opening the door and stepping through, Clint right at his heels.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Barnes,” Fury says from where he’s standing by the window, a shadow of black even in the brightness of the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky!” Steve says, standing up from behind his desk and coming round to hug Bucky fiercely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve grown a beard,” Bucky says as Steve pulls back and watches his friend’s hand rise to touch it self-consciously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it,” he says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He thinks it makes him look more kingly,” Fury comments, and Steve shoots him a sour look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened to your arm?” Steve asks, looking pointedly at where it lies useless in its sleeve.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Turns out Hydra didn’t much like me absconding with their secrets,” Bucky says. “They sent a few guys after us and one of them got in a lucky hit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But you got the information?” Fury asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky pulls the oilskin wallet out of his coat and holds it out. “That should be what you need. If you act quickly, Schmidt won’t have time to regroup.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re alright?” Steve asks, looking Bucky up and down to try and find more injuries on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Clint took the rest out with his bow,” Bucky says, turning to Clint with a grin. “You should have seen it. Right in the eye, I’ve never seen a shot like it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh,” Clint says and all eyes turn to him. “Sorry… I just. I thought we were going to see the king?” Fury’s eyebrows rise up his forehead and Steve looks honestly gobsmacked for a second. It’s been a long time since anyone didn’t recognise him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are,” Steve says, holding out a hand. “Steve Rogers, King of Brooklyn.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint stares at him and stares down at his hand, then gives Bucky a vaguely terrified look before trying to bow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, your… highness? Majesty? Is it highness or majesty? I didn’t know. Bucky didn’t say you were… Lord Bucky… Lord… I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky lowers his head into his hand trying to decide whether he wants to sigh or pull his hair out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” Steve says, seeming quite happy with the situation. “It’s Clint, right? So how did you come to be travelling with Bucky?” Steve asks, and Clint is too flustered to catch a word of it, looking at Bucky with wild, wide eyes again. Bucky signs as much of a translation as he can, making Steve frown.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint’s hearing isn’t so good,” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How… did I walk with Bucky?” Clint says, following Bucky’s hands. Bucky shakes his head and tries a different word. “How did I </span>
  <em>
    <span>meet</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bucky? Uh…” he looks at Bucky again. “He sort of… bought me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Bucky remembers why he probably should have fielded that question himself. Fury and Steve both turn to him, Steve with horror and disbelief, Fury with amused assessment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“To free him,” Bucky says. “I bought him to free him. But it turned out to be a bit more complicated than I thought. There’s magic involved.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course there is,” Fury says. Steve’s still giving Bucky his firm look of disappointment, which probably works better on subject he hasn’t grown up with. Bucky just rolls his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t free them all without drawing attention to myself, but I could save him,” he says. Clint’s watching them back and forth again, clearly lost. “Don’t suppose you’ve got someone who can sign?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends which sign language it is,” Fury says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Natasha was pretty fluent,” Bucky tells him and Fury nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And have someone fetch Tony,” Steve says. “No one in this country is a slave, no matter what magic is involved. And he can take a look at Bucky’s arm while he’s at it.” Bucky winces. He’d sort of been hoping for a little break before he’d have to see the court wizard, but apparently Steve wants some payback for Bucky having bought a slave. He gives his revered king a sour look, but Steve just smiles serenely back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Clint asks as Fury walks over to the door and barks some orders at the guards there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Finding someone to talk to you,” Bucky says, signing what he can. “And the court…” he doesn’t know the sign for wizard so he sticks the signs for magic and man next to each other and hopes that it makes sense. Clint nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll have to give a full report, of course,” Steve says. “But that can wait until Tony’s worked out how to break this contract.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony and Coulson arrive almost simultaneously, although you’d be forgiven for not noticing Coulson’s entrance in the whirlwind that is Tony. He’s dressed in red and gold, looking far more like a king fashion-wise than Steve’s ever managed and he looks particularly disgruntled as he sweeps in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this about, your kingliness?” he asks. “I’m getting ready for this evening’s festivities. You know how Pepper gets when I ruin her schedules.” Before Steve can reply, he catches sight of Bucky.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Barnes, you’re back! What did you do to my arm?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My arm,” Bucky corrects, but Tony’s too busy examining it like a mother fussing over a baby. “Maybe next time you make it stab-proof?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Armoured?” Tony says, looking up with a familiar and not entirely welcome gleam in his eye. Bucky just combined his two favourite things: magical challenges and metalwork. “Of course! An armoured arm. We kept the organic materials to help with the illusion of it being real but now you’re back, I suppose that isn’t as much of a concern. In fact-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony,” Steve says, cutting in. “Before you get carried away, there’s another matter that’s a little more urgent.” Tony looks at him, blinking like he’d forgotten Steve was even in the room. Bucky is dimly aware of Coulson tapping Clint on the shoulder and starting to sign at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What more urgent matter? Why didn’t you say something earlier? What are you hanging around for, sire?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky, the contract?” Steve says and Bucky pulls Clint’s contract from his pocket, holding it out to Tony, who takes it with an expression of intrigue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is a magical contract,” he says. “For ownership of a slave…” he looks up at Bucky again. “You didn’t get enslaved while you were over there, did you? No, you couldn’t have done, you wouldn’t be able to run away, there’s a paragraph about that right here.” Tony flips over to the last page, “Isn’t that the alias you were...You </span>
  <em>
    <span>bought</span>
  </em>
  <span> a slave?” His jaw drops open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So I could free him,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. He’s getting a bit sick of all these people assuming the worst of him. “This is him; this is Clint,” he gestures to where Clint’s standing, looking a lot more confident now Coulson’s translating every word for him. Clint waves his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi,” he says. “I’m Clint. Bucky and Phil say you can get rid of these.” He rolls up his sleeves to show the thick black bands of his slave marks. “Kind of hoping you’re as good as they say you are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said I was good?” Tony crows. “Barnes! You do love me! I knew it!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up and start thinking,” Bucky says. “Not sure what the point of having such a big head is if you don’t use it sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Charming as ever, Barnes,” Tony says. “No wonder you bought a slave, no one else would talk to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you break the contract or not?” Bucky asks. Clint is staring at Coulson’s hand avidly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I can,” Tony says. “Simple. Child’s play even. Surprised you didn’t work it out yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How?” Bucky asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Once the words be thrice decried, then this contract’s nullified!” Tony says with a dramatic flourish. Everyone stares at him and he sighs. “They made us learn things in rhyme because they said we would remember them better; just makes us sound like idiots, if you ask me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do they need to say three times?” Steve asks, coming over to rest a hand on Tony’s shoulder. That’s new, Bucky notes. The way that he steadies Tony and the way Tony actually calms down a bit. He shoots a look at Fury, who flicks one eyebrow as if to say that Bucky missed a lot while he was gone, like he didn’t already know.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not both of them,” Tony says, frowning down at the paper in disgust. “The way this is written Clint might as well be an object. It’s Bucky who has to say it. Just say his name, then tell him he’s free three times in a row and poof, it’s done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s that easy?” Bucky asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That easy and that hard,” Tony says. “Hard to force someone who can literally order you to do anything and magically force you to carry out that order to say something they don’t want to, especially when you both know that if you kill them you kill yourself.” He looks more sobre. “It’s a nasty little spell that places all the power in the owner’s hands. A corruption of an old wedding spell from way back, one of the old lore ones, but turned to a horrible new purpose.” He sighs. “But what do you expect from Hydra?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So all he has to do is say it?” Clint asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tony says, turning to him, all his manic presence gone. “Three sentences and then you’re free.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint, you are free.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it has to be his full name, as written on the document,” Tony interrupts, and hands the contract back to Bucky, who looks down at it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clinton Francis Barton,” he says. “You are free.” He looks right into Clint’s eyes, which are wide with disbelief. “You are free,” he says again, with what he hopes is an encouraging grin, then draws a deep breath. He can feel the magic tingling through him as he opens his mouth to say it for the third time. “You are free.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The marks on Clint’s wrists seem to burn away, although there’s no pain on Clint’s face, and as they do, the contract in Bucky’s hand catches light and he lets go, watching as it flares up and floats to the ground, leaving only ash.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Clint says, looking down at his wrists, then up at Bucky. “You really did it. I’m free!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He surges forwards, throwing himself at Bucky bodily, leaving Bucky with no choice but to stagger backwards or fall over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He only has one arm to hug back, but he makes the most of it, laughing at Clint’s exuberance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what am I, chopped liver?” Tony asks, holding up his hands in mock outrage, but he’s grinning too, everyone’s grinning.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m free,” Clint says, pulling back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You always were, really,” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Every man should be free,” Steve announces, his kingly voice back on. “Which is why we need to discuss what Bucky actually went to Hydra for before the day gets any later.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Bucky agrees with a nod.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my cue to leave,” Tony says. “People to charm, places to enchant!” He sweeps back out again just as dramatically as he’d come.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll show Mr Barton around,” Coulson says, signing as he talks. “And get him prepared for the festival tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Festival?” Bucky asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lost track of the days, have you?” Fury says. “It’s midsummer, Barnes. Of course there’s a festival.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not in Hydra there isn’t,” Clint says. “I don’t think I’ve been to a midsummer festival since I was a kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we had better get you ready, then,” Phil tells him. “This way, Mr Barton.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint,” Clint says, offering his name sign, grinning as Phil signs it back at him. He turns his smile on Bucky again. “Guess I’ll see you tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah… guess you will,” Bucky says, trying not to feel sad that Clint’s no longer at his side. He’s free now; he has no reason to be there, but it still feels odd to have an empty space where he’d had Clint for the past few days. Was it really only days? It feels like weeks or months. He sighs and turns back to Steve, who’s looking at him thoughtfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t…” he wiggles his fingers and Bucky frowns at him. “Do anything… with Clint… while he was your slave?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I didn’t,” Bucky says. “What the fuck do you think I am?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean, obviously not intentionally… but you clearly like him and…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t touch him,” Bucky says. “Not… not like that. There was an incident with some soldiers at Natasha’s place but We never…” he gives Fury a look where the man’s observing proceedings with the calm gaze of a bird of prey. “I swear on my life, Steve, I never took advantage.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe you, Buck,” Steve says, nodding. “Now… we need to talk about Hydra.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The debriefing takes the better part of the afternoon, and Bucky goes over four years worth of intelligence and observation, answering questions Fury poses from reports he’d sent back years before. It’s physically and emotionally exhausting, and there’s something about having Steve there, hearing everything he’s done to get what he needed to, that makes him feel filthy all over, though he knows he isn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he leaves the room, breathing a sigh of relief, Pepper appears out of seemingly nowhere to whisk him off to Tony, who tells him that he can at least make Bucky’s arm functional while he’s waiting for the new one. Then there’s a lot of sitting down while spells are cast and listening to Tony talk about what’s happened while he’s been away, which is actually pretty useful, though Bucky would never admit it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s almost time for the feast to begin when he’s finally free and he can run to his chambers in the west tower, which are exactly as he left them. Some helpful servant has left a set of fine tunics and overshirts in his family colours on his bed, and he looks at them in soft recollection for a moment before remembering he has no time for nostalgia and pulling them on. He surveys his reflection in the mirror and is pleased to see that Clint’s work on his hair has stayed in place.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been a long time since he’s been to one of these things as himself, and it feels like he’s stepping back in time, into another version of him, a younger, more naive one, to whom Hydra was just a far off enemy. Now he’s seen things that he cannot unsee and done things he would have been horrified at the very idea of. He traces the lines on his face that weren’t there the last time he looked in this mirror.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lord Barnes,” he says, trying to get used to the title again. He’s been someone else for so long it feels alien on his tongue and in his ears. He’s not sure he’s ready to be that person again, and as much as he loves being home, the thought of dealing with all the petty court problems is like sand rubbing at his skin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sets his shoulders and heads for the door. He’s faced down the emperor of Hydra himself. He can handle the Midsummer Festival.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hall is bustling, full to the brim with people of all sorts, wearing clothes of every colour. It is midsummer, so this feast is for everyone, and the courtyard is opened up with more tables outside under the late evening sun and courtiers, townsfolk and farmers all mingle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost throws his sister to the ground as she runs to embrace him, but luckily she calls out his name and he recognises her voice. He manages to catch her as she attacks him and he spins her around. She smiles down at him in delight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard you were back!” she says. “Though you didn’t stop in to see us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was under orders to report straight to the King,” Bucky says. “And I’ve only just been set free.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good thing too, or I’d have stormed the dungeons to free you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Lady Rebecca Barnes, you are not behaving like a young lady,” his mother’s voice interrupts, and Becca makes a face. The last time he saw her she was thirteen and gangly in all the ways that young people hate most, but at seventeen, she’s almost full grown, nearly as tall as he is, and she has the same put upon expression as their dad. Bucky shakes his head and gives her a mock disappointed expression before turning to hug his mother.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She looks… older. The sort of changes you don’t notice when you see a person every day, but which hit you in the face after four years apart. Worrying about him can’t have been kind to her, but she’s still got the same firm, but kind expression on her face, and her hands still smooth down the front of her skirts when she’s nervous. He grasps them and pulls them up to kiss the backs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi ma,” he says and he doesn’t mention the tears in her eyes as she pulls him down into a hug. She feels so small as he wraps his arms around her and he wonders when that happened.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Next time that exasperating young boy sends you off on an adventure, you’re to say no,” she tells him as she pulls back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That exasperating young man is the king,” Becca points out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean he isn’t exasperating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m staying for a while yet, ma,” Bucky tells her. “Though I brought some news, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next.” He can see the look in her eye. She knows what he’s been up to, even if he didn’t tell her, and she knows that war is looking more likely every day. She rests one hand against his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look dreadful,” she says. “And your hair is…” She purses her lips together and Bucky has to force himself not to defend Clint’s work. “It’ll do. That’s something, I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He looks rugged, like an adventurer,” Becca says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like a bandit,” his mother argues.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like me,” Bucky says, cutting through.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should have shaved,” his mother says, clucking her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t have enough time,” Bucky says, scraping a hand across his jaw. “And I thought beards were in fashion now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not a beard,” his sister comments, grinning cheekily. “That’s an embarrassment.” He swats at her, but she darts out of the way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Children,” his mother says, her tone the same as he remembers from forever. “We are in public.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s midsummer,” Becca says, rolling her eyes. “No one cares.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They head into the high hall and take their seats, Bucky sitting with his family in their usual positions, and the feast commences.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He keeps an eye out for Clint, but between people coming over to ask after his health and fish for gossip and the seven courses of rich food that are carried out of the kitchens with pride, he barely sees anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stuffed full of food, and more than done with socialising for a lifetime, he rises from the table and takes his plate over to where the servants will drag it off before they come out to join the celebrations. The tables are being rearranged, and from the courtyard he can hear the sprightly chords of the minstrels striking up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There will be dancing and bonfires, Tony will put on a display of illusions to dazzle the crowds below, and no one will sleep until dawn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He weaves his way out into the courtyard, leaving Becca and his ma to talk to their friends with a wave, and searches the crowd for Clint, who will either be having the time of his life, or will be completely overwhelmed by this entire affair.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes catch on a familiar tunic and he blinks, thinking he must be mistaken. But no, it’s still there. He recognises the patterns and the colours and… yes, the embroidered stars across it, silver on red. But who would be wearing his old festival clothes at-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The figure turns around and Bucky blinks at the sight of Clint, who is filling out the shoulders of that tunic in a way Bucky had never managed as a younger man, no matter how much he’d wished he could. It’s a little small, maybe snug would be the best word, but other than that, it fits. A belt at Clint’s waist cinches it in in a way that emphasises the muscular build that Bucky knows is underneath. Bucky’s eyes sweep him up and down, and he can’t help but appreciate the sight. He hasn’t seen Clint in anything but an old shirt and jerkin and the coat Natasha gave him. He’d thought he looked good in that, but this is a different side of him entirely, cleaned up and dressed up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>in Bucky’s clothes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wonders if that was his own idea, or if Coulson had some say in it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Coulson maybe, the man knows too much for his own good. It makes him an incredible member of Fury’s spy network, but when you’re on the other side of it, it’s not so fun. Although, Bucky can’t complain when it’s brought him this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Clint’s arms move, flexing beneath the fabric of the undershirt he’s wearing, and his fingers move through the air, Bucky realises that Coulson is next to him and they are signing to each other. Bucky hesitates. In an atmosphere like this, the air full of laughter, conversation and music, Clint won’t be able to understand a word he says. Coulson will translate, certainly, but Bucky would want...</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky would want to have a private conversation. To maybe ask Clint, now he’s a free man, whether he would like to take a walk to see the Midsummer sunset, and maybe find a nook or a cranny to celebrate the season, like a hundred other couples will do tonight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, there’s no knowing whether Clint would say yes, now he’s free to leave Bucky behind, but Bucky saw the way he looked at him when he came across him bathing this morning. He knows that there is some interest there, but whether it’s more than a casual attraction to a naked body, he couldn’t say, and the idea of having Coulson there to translate that conversation is… excruciating.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he still wants Clint to have a friendly face in amongst all this chaos. So he winds his way around the dancers and heads to where the pair of them are standing on the far steps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He waves as he approaches and his heart lifts to see the huge grin Clint gifts him with.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi!” Clint greets. “This is amazing.” His voice is too loud, even for the background noise, but it’s so full of enthusiasm that Bucky can’t help but smile back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d forgotten it was midsummer,” Bucky says, although he knows Clint already knows that, he was there when Bucky found out. “There’s always a party.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And everyone’s all here together,” Clint says. “Is it always like that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Has been as long as I remember,” Bucky says. “Steve’s ma - Queen Sarah started it before I was born. Said the solstices and the equinoxes should be open to all, and so they are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s great,” Clint says. “Why aren’t you dancing?” he asks then, his expression turning a bit guarded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s early,” Bucky says. “And I don’t have a partner. It’s been a long time since I danced like this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about the lady you were with earlier?” Clint asks and Bucky frowns, thinking back. He hasn’t spoken to anyone really, except for his mother and... “Becca?” He knows he must look incredulous, his eyebrows high up his forehead and his mouth hanging open a bit. To be honest, it’s as much the fact that Clint called Becca a lady that’s so ridiculous. In his head she’s still the tiny kid who won’t leave him alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe… the pretty one wearing the same colours as you,” Clint says. Bucky looks to Coulson’s face, but sees nothing but the thin sheen of professionalism there. He knows the man is smirking inside, though.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My sister,” Bucky says, and he smothers a smile as Clint blinks and his face clears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your sister?” Clint asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Becca,” Bucky repeats. “My little sister. She’s grown a lot since I last saw her, but she’s still just as big a pain in the ass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint laughs, long and loud, gaining looks from nearby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like siblings,” he says. “You never said you had a sister.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I got used to not talking about myself,” Bucky says, unable to keep the smile from drifting from his face. “I wasn’t myself for a long time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you never told me you were a lord,” Clint adds. Bucky is not imagining the flicker of disapproval across Coulson’s features.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I should have told you that,” Bucky agrees. “Never quite sure the right way to say it, and we weren’t exactly good at communicating.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Clint says. “So you’re gonna go back to lording or whatever, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do what Steve needs me to do,” Bucky says with a shrug. He grabs a mug of ale from a tray gliding past and swallows it, looking away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what do I do?” Clint says. He holds up his arms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever you want to do,” Bucky says. “You’re a free man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So I could stay here, get a job?” Clint says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re more than passable with a bow and arrow,” Bucky says. “I know we’re always looking for new foresters and scouts.” Clint nods slowly, looking a bit frustrated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The minstrels start another tune, a tripping, joyful melody with a lot of banging of the tambors and clapping. Clint’s eyes light up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know this one!” he says. “They used to play it at midsummer back home.” He reaches to grab Bucky’s hand, then stops himself, hand hovering midair as his eyes dart away from Bucky’s. He uses his other hand to rub over his head, making his hair as messy as it has ever been. “Would you… like to dance?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky stares at the hand and up at Clint’s face, which is turning a little red.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We couldn’t… we wouldn’t be able to talk,” he says, gesturing towards Coulson. Clint frowns, then grins again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There are other ways to communicate,” he says and Bucky tries not to read too much into that, but he reaches out to take Clint’s hand and is pulled right into the whirl of dancers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It turns out that they both know the tune, but they know different steps. They muddle through, Clint adding far more twirling and clapping than seems necessary. What they come up with is a strange combination of the two dances and by the time the reel comes to an end they’ve mostly sorted out which bit goes where, with a lot of laughter and tripping over each other’s feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Another?” Bucky asks, feeling bold. He sees his sister through the crowd and she gives him a gleefully significant look that he ignores like a mature adult.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Clint says. “Though I probably won’t know it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just watch me,” Bucky signs, grateful that he knows that much, and Clint nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The next dance requires them to separate into fours, and they join the couple next to them, who are clearly already well into the drinking and merriment portion of their evening. The dance seems to require them to change direction every fourth beat and without fail, one of them always turns the wrong way. Then there’s a part in the middle where Bucky and the young lady in the other couple get swept entirely off their feet and almost fly off into the crowd. But Clint’s arm is firm around his waist, keeping him steady.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t remember ever laughing this much - or dancing this much, for that matter. They stay in for another dance and another and another, and Bucky sees people he recognises dancing around them. He even catches sight of Steve a couple of times, with a number of different people, which is new. He'd never managed to get Steve onto the dancefloor before, though he’d spent half his life trying. The smile on Steve’s face as he dances with someone Bucky thinks is one of the palace cooks makes it clear that this is a change for the better.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Bucky has to bow out, his side aching with a stitch and his legs wobbly underneath him. Clint follows him happily enough and they muddle through a conversation until Coulson finds them again, though Bucky could have sworn he saw him dancing a second ago. He doesn’t seem bothered by having to spend his midsummer translating for them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a troupe of acrobats in one corner of the courtyard, doing lifts and flips and tricks, throwing each other up in the air and jumping through hoops of fire, Bucky watches them for a minute, almost hypnotised by their movements. Clint leans over to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do that,” he says. Bucky looks at him and then back at the acrobats.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Prove it,” he says and Clint grins lazily, then jumps to his feet, sidling over to the corner, to speak to a young dark haired woman dressed in purple, Coulson following at a polite distance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky doesn’t know what Clint says, but the girl looks distinctly unimpressed, then with an air of challenge, starts to toss him lit torches.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s mouth drops open as Clint juggles one, two, three, four, five torches, throwing them high up into the air, where the fire almost blends with the rich orange of the midsummer sunset, then catching them easily. He passes them back to the girl, who’s got a reluctant smile on her face, and then they’re juggling them between them. After a minute of the flames whirling between them, one of the acrobats comes to leap between them, as though they’re daring the torches to hit them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky grabs another ale and goes over to sit on the steps and watch, aware he’s smiling like a lovesick fool.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they catch the torches and take their bow, Bucky applauds and whistles loudly. Clint gives another little bow, directly to Bucky with a wink, before the girl whispers something else in his ear and Clint’s nodding eagerly and stepping onto her cupped hands to leap into the air, only to be caught by another acrobat. He’s flipping himself over and over, like the torches had flipped over before. It reminds Bucky of watching him fight, that same fluidity of motion and danger. He could watch it all night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s got quite the skillset,” Steve says, coming to sit next to Bucky. He’s got an easy, happy smile on his face, a far cry from the solemn expression he’d been wearing all afternoon as he heard Bucky tell his tale.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hasn’t he,” Bucky agrees, not giving anything away for all Steve’s fishing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna give him a reason to stick around?” Steve asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s a free man; he can do as he pleases,” Bucky tells him, taking a gulp of his drink.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s difficult to make a decision when you don’t know all the options,” Steve says, sounding almost wise. Bucky gives him a sharp look out of the corner of his eye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You grew up,” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So did you,” Steve says, his mouth turning down a little. “I didn’t know when I sent you there... what it was really like.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s why you sent me,” Bucky points out. “I was the best choice and you know it. And it’s done now.” His voice is tight and he looks back to Clint just so he doesn’t have to look Steve in the eye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should let him know that you’re an option,” Steve says, changing the subject back again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t pressure him,” Bucky says. “He’s grateful that I freed him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s grateful for your ass,” Steve says. Bucky blinks and looks at the goblet in Steve’s hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What exactly are you drinking, pal?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Asgardian mead,” Steve says, looking down at his drink. “It’s pretty nice. King Odin brought some with him on his visit last year.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Bucky says. “You think maybe you should cut back a bit?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s midsummer,” Steve says with a smile, patting Bucky’s leg as he stands up. “I can do what I want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you say so, pal,” Bucky says. He knows Steve will regret it in the morning, but then so will most people here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you should do what I want, too,” Steve says, pointing at him. “I am the king, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. You’ve even got the shiny hat to prove it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I do,” Steve agrees, then he frowns. “It isn’t very comfortable,” he says. “And it’s fucking awful at keeping the rain off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky laughs and Steve gives a slight, uneven bow, before heading off to bother someone else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns his attention back to Clint, who has stopped throwing himself into fiery death and is now talking to the acrobats, grinning his head off. He looks… happy and at home, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky takes a deep breath, weariness coming over him all at once. As he looks round, he can see that couples are already starting to dart away from the celebrations. It’s been a long week. Hell, iIt’s been a long four years and he feels every moment of it right then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He drains the rest of his cup, nods to Becca, who doesn’t seem to be lacking in dance partners, and to his mother, who is watching her indulgently, and heads for the door and his waiting bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The sounds of the festivities below echo up even to Bucky’s room and he leaves the window open. It’s nice to hear happy people as he goes to sleep for a change. He strips down to his underthings and stares down at the lights: the huge flare of the bonfire, and the dancing colours that must be Tony putting on a show. He smiles and rolls his shoulders, stretching up into a long yawn that makes his body sag.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere down there, all the people he cares about are having fun - well, most of them. He’ll take that. Warm night, soft bed, and everyone safe, that’s enough for now. More than he could ask, really.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lies down on the bed and stares at the heavy canopy above him that he used to know so well. He tucks one arm behind his head and lets the fingers of the other drum against his breastbone, in time with the faint music. There is a strange mix of contentment and sorrow in his chest, a bittersweet grief. He’s been handed the one thing he’s longed for for four hard worn years, and at the same time he’s losing something he’s never had. It’s strange the way things work out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His bed feels strange under him and the world smells odd, full of the rich scent of the wood they’re burning and the food that’s still being eaten.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes, letting the sounds wash over him and carry him away into dreams more peaceful than he’s had in a long, long time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It can’t be very much later when he wakes up again, the music still rises from outside and the room is still dimly lit by the orange glow of the fires and torches. The melody has changed to something slower and sweeter, though, the kind of music that has the older couples swaying together and the younger folk trying their luck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders what woke him, until he sees the dark figure barely outlined in orange light and he jumps to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His first thought is assassin, and the knife is out from under his pillow in seconds, but his hand is twisted behind his back and he’s pulled away from the bed. He catches a glimpse of a face in the golden glow and he frowns in confusion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint?” he asks and Clint pushes him back against the wall, so Bucky can feel cold stone against his back and rough fabric rubbing at his chest. He tries to throw Clint off, but Clint uses his height to his advantage.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You left,” Clint says. Bucky swallows and looks up into where he can just make out Clint’s eyes. It’s too dark for Clint to read his lips and Bucky’s hands are pinned in place, there’s no way to communicate. His body and his mind are confused, feeling one thing, thinking another. The press of Clint’s body against his, fabric touching bare skin, one hand pressing over his chest, is making his blood pool lower, and sending flares of warmth through him as every word Clint speaks makes his chest vibrate. But Bucky’s brain is still defining this as a threat, is still plotting the easiest way to throw Clint off and get his knife from where it fell.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought, maybe you didn’t feel anything,” Clint says, his voice low. “You’re hard to read…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m a spy,” Bucky says, and one of Clint’s hands lifts up to his head to tug at Bucky’s hair, making him groan and sending another wave of arousal crashing over him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But then Coulson told me about your hair,” he says. “He told me what it meant.” Bucky shudders at the low, rough tone of his voice and he’s got to say that while he’s never considered being at someone’s mercy arousing before, it’s starting to look like he was very wrong about that. “That it’s for family… or lovers.” The word is a whisper, barely a caress of air across Bucky’s skin, but he hears it loud and clear. “Intimate… that’s what he said.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky says shakily, hoping that Clint can catch it. He nods as well, in case he doesn’t. Clint smiles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” he says. “And then your sister came up, and seemed to think we were </span>
  <em>
    <span>courting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He pushes his leg forwards, right against where Bucky’s erection is straining out of his underclothes. Bucky’s head rolls back against the wall, even as he vows silently to kill his little sister. “She’s very protective of you, you know.” Clint says, almost conversationally as Bucky thrusts hopelessly against his thigh. He’s still fully dressed, and that’s not fair, not fair at all. Bucky reaches up to tug at Clint’s tunic - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> tunic that Clint’s wearing - but Clint grabs his wrists and pins them to the wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s reminded of what he thought when he first looked into Clint’s eyes and saw the fierce, barely restrained fury there. He can feel the force of that ferocity now, but it’s not rage that’s burning in Clint’s eyes this time, held back by sheer force of will.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought it was probably best not to tell her I’d tried to kill you,” Clint says. Bucky laughs, a breathless half laugh. That’s all he can get out around the tight, thick arousal that’s flooding through him. “You looked damn hot on your back with my knife at your throat,” Clint tells him, leaning in to bite at Bucky’s neck, right where he’d held the knife that day. “I wanted you, even then. You know that? I thought maybe if you ordered me to, I wouldn’t mind so much.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t,” Bucky says, shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I was going to slit your throat, but I thought it would be a shame, because you were so damn pretty,” Clint says. Bucky tries to glare at that, but Clint just gives him an impish, lopsided grin. “And then it turned out you weren’t who I thought. You were so much more than just a pretty face.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clint,” Bucky says, the name strangled and desperate, still pressed back against the hard unforgiving stone of the wall, nowhere to move but forward, towards Clint’s heat and his wicked, amused grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Natasha told me to make the most of our time together,” Clint says, his gaze dipping down Bucky’s body appreciatively, following the heaving of his chest down across his stomach and below, to where his underwear is wet, sticking to the curve of his erection. “And I wanted to… but you always moved away.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Couldn’t… take advantage,” Bucky says. “You were… slave…” he knows Clint can’t hear him, but he needs to say it. “Wanted you, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could hear you,” Clint says, leaning forwards to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, his nose pressing into Bucky’s cheek. “But there’s only one thing I need to hear, and that’s just one word…. Yes or no?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fuck, yes,” Bucky says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just a yes or a no,” Clint says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Bucky says again. He nods. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Great!” Clint says. The hunger in his eyes is wiped away by a brilliant grin and he pulls back just long enough to strip the tunic and undershirt over his head, in one tangled mess. Then he’s moving in again, his lips colliding with Bucky’s hungrily as his fingers tangle with the laces of their clothes. He pulls Bucky free of his small clothes and shoves them down his legs so Bucky can kick them off. Once they’re gone, he sets to work on the ties of his own breeches, still kissing Bucky’s mouth frantically and sloppily. Bucky takes advantage of his own hands being free to grasp at Clint’s face and hold it still. Just to stop him moving so much so Bucky can kiss him properly, like he’s been dying to do since they met. He seals their mouths together properly and takes the time to explore the shape of Clint’s mouth, and the taste of it. As Clint manages to free himself from his breeches and his concentration returns to the kiss, Bucky lets his hands drop down to the muscle of Clint’s shoulders, kneading it, digging his fingers in and then stroking along the ridges of Clint’s scars, beneath the twisting lines of his tattoo.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint’s hands seem huge as they slide down to squeeze at Bucky’s ass, urging him up. Bucky responds automatically to the silent command and lifts himself up, wrapping his legs around Clint’s back, feeling his erection slide against Clint’s own, which is just as hard and just as hot. Clint holds him there against the wall, thrusting against him, and Bucky can feel the ripples of his back muscles as he rolls their hips together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s messy, fast, and dirty, and every time Clint pulls away from Bucky’s mouth, he talks, a litany of words in a language Bucky doesn’t understand, except for when he says Bucky’s name like a fucking blessing, and then rushes back to plant open-mouthed wet kisses against any of Bucky’s skin that’s within reach. He kisses Bucky like he’s starving for him and his hands grip that little bit tighter than they need to. Tight enough to leave bruises, Bucky hopes, so he can have some marks of his own.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky can’t last long, can’t hang on, not when it seems like the entire time they’ve known each other has been foreplay, and especially not when Clint wraps a nimble fingered hand around his cock and starts to stroke it in strong, sure strokes, rubbing his thumb across the end, teasingly, still talking in that language Bucky has no hope of understanding and pulling back to look right at Bucky, wonder painted across his features.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky comes with a wordless prayer on his lips, splattering himself across both their chests as his head thuds back into the wall and his hips thrust helplessly into Clint’s sure grasp.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint lets him down gently, lifting his hand to lick Bucky’s release from his fingers with a daring look in his eye. Bucky can’t let that look go unanswered, so he drops to his knees and darts out his tongue to swipe across the slit of Clint’s cock, tasting the bitter precome that’s already there. Clint says something and his hand goes to Bucky’s hair, but it’s urging him on, not pulling him away. So Bucky moves in, takes the head of Clint’s erection into his mouth and darts his tongue against it again, sucking gently in a way that rips a broken shout from Clint’s lips and makes his fingers tighten in Bucky’s hair, messing up the braids that he had entwined so carefully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky pulls off, then goes right back in, taking in as much of Clint as he can, hollowing out his cheeks and swallowing around him, undulating his tongue against the weight of him. He pulls off slowly, savouring the feel of the stretch in his jaw and the feeling of soft, slick skin over his lips. He can feel Clint’s cock throb in his mouth as he pulls away. Clint’s hips thrust forwards, pushing his cock against Bucky’s lips, painting them with precome and Bucky knows he’s close, can see it in the quivering muscles of Clint’s thighs, which seem to barely be holding him up. Bucky reaches out to touch them, sliding his palms along them in a soothing motion, feeling the muscles rock hard beneath the soft skin. He looks up at Clint, seeing him painted gold by the faraway firelight, chest heaving with his panting breaths, eyes wide. Bucky smiles, then opens his mouth again, sliding back onto Clint’s cock, as far as it will go, sucking at it and kneading at Clint’s thighs to urge him on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint comes with a startled cry, loud and lovely, filling Bucky’s mouth to overflowing until he has to pull off and wipe at his chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After teetering for a moment, Clint collapses next to him, a pile of unsteady limbs, and reaches for Bucky’s face, dragging their lips together with clumsy, post-coital movements, still urgent, but gentler than before. And when they are too spent for that, Bucky pulls Clint’s head to his and rests their foreheads together, panting for breath and shutting his eyes to just enjoy that delicious sated feeling that is making his limbs heavy and slow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re really good at that,” Clint says, his voice shaky and unsure. Bucky laughs, and Clint presses a hand to his chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like feeling your laugh,” he says. “I like hearing you, too. Even when I can’t understand you, I can still hear your voice. It’s nice.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I like hearing you, as well,” Bucky says, tilting his head up to kiss Clint’s forehead with a tenderness he probably wouldn’t be able to manage in daylight. “I like hearing you laugh,” he kisses Clint’s cheek. “I like seeing you move.” He kisses Clint’s other cheek. “I like seeing you fight.” He grins then darts in to kiss the tip of Clint’s nose, making Clint go cross-eyed for a second. “I’d like you to stay,” Bucky says, too quiet and too fast for Clint to ever have understood him. He swallows the worry the words bring up and reaches up to cup Clint’s face again, his hands already learning the shape of it, then he pulls them back to sign it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to stay,” he signs. “Please.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Clint looks at him, eyebrows raised in what looks like disbelief, and then a smile spreads across his face, more beautiful than the midsummer sunset or any magical tricks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just waiting for you to ask,” he says, and then he pulls Bucky in for a kiss, which doesn’t seem fair, because Bucky had been just about to kiss him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky yawns into the kiss, which starts Clint yawning, which dissolves into quiet laughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go to bed,” Clint says, crossing over the room on unsteady legs to the small basin of water that sits on the dresser. He grabs a cloth and goes to wipe down Bucky and then himself. “Coulson showed me my room earlier,” he says, sounding a little uncertain, so Bucky takes the cloth from his hands and sets it back on the dresser.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to stay,” he signs again, and Clint grins.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then,” he says. “I’ve got to say, I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a bed as fancy as this one, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Barnes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Bucky cuffs him on the shoulder, but Clint ignores him and just turns around to flop down on the bed, arms stretched wide. He grins as he looks at Bucky with an expression of utter satisfaction. It’s a good look on him and Bucky makes a silent vow to see it more often. “I really made a mess of you.” He lifts a hand to pull at where one of Bucky’s braids is half undone. “I’ll have to redo this in the morning… if you want me to.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky’s eyes dart to his face, because now Clint knows what he’s asking. But there’s nothing in Clint’s face but certainty so Bucky just nods, knowing he doesn’t know how to sign what he wants to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re supposed to get under the covers,” he says instead, tugging at where they’re rumpled under Clint’s legs. Clint raises his legs to let him at them, then wriggles under the covers, turning over onto his front. Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the sight in front of him, the acres of Clint’s skin lit golden by the dim bonfire glow, the lines of his tattoo almost seeming to move on their own in the flickering light, and all of that in his bed. For him to touch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He crawls in next to Clint and has a leg flung over him for his trouble and Clint’s face nuzzles into his shoulder. Bucky slowly lifts his arm, his real arm, to wrap around Clint’s body, pulling them as close together as he can manage, and he listens to Clint’s breathing even out as they lie there. He pushes his face into the ruffle of hair on top of Clint’s head, and takes a deep breath of him, the strong tang of sweat and sex filling his nostrils.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sounds from the party outside are still going strong, and they’ll keep going until long after dawn, but Bucky’s happy enough inside right now, whatever tomorrow may bring.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>REGARDING NON-CON AND DUB-CON TAGS: </p><p>Implied Non-con: There are a couple of times when it is obliquely referenced that Bucky and Natasha have had to do certain things (never specified) as part of their espionage roles trying to take down Hydra. It is not implied that these things were done by force, but because they believed them necessary and did not enjoy doing them.</p><p>Mildly Dubious Consent: The dub-con refers to 2 scenes. There is a scene of a sexual nature wherein Clint and Bucky pretend to be having sex in order to fool some soldiers. Then, in the final chapter, Clint manhandles Bucky in a sexual way without first getting consent. He does ask for and receive enthusiastic consent pretty quickly after that, but the foreplay is aggressive and would not be appropriate in real life without prior consent.</p><p>If you think any of this will be triggering or squick you out, please look after yourself and don't read. I know it's not what I usually write and I genuinely would prefer you not read this fic if the alternative is you being upset or hurt.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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